


Dystopia - Part1

by Cathetel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Auction, BDSM, Bondage, Dystopia, F/M, Original work - Freeform, Slave Ownership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 11:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14164338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cathetel/pseuds/Cathetel
Summary: In a post apocalypse world a rancher buys a slave, but does he truly own her?





	Dystopia - Part1

**Author's Note:**

> This is all original work by Cathetel and may not be copied or reposted without written permission. All characters are fictional and 18 years of age or older.

Prologue

The year 2024 marked the beginning of the end, as is the way of life.

The economic collapse of France started a domino effect that the EU tried desperately to stop, draining the surrounding countries of their resources; toppling one country after another. Before anyone knew it the whole of Europe was drowning in debt, sickness, and homeless. Banks collapsed, insurance companies failed, hospitals ran out of supplies; and then so did the groceries. The governments, desperate for any aid, called out to anyone who would listen. China, Russia, Brazil, Japan, South Africa, Canada and America responded by providing aid...but that aid came with a price.

The freestanding countries saw this as an opportunity to exploit the EU for their own gain, essentially buying countries to spread their influence. America, China, and Russia were the worst offenders, before long resorting to spycraft and assassination to get their way. 

The histories are fuzzy depending on who you ask, but they all agree on one thing; the resulting war, though lasting only three weeks, was the bloodiest in all of human history. In a matter of days the population of the planet was reduced by billions, and in the following years the radioactive fallout reduced it even further. When the dust settled, the face of the planet was remade. The winter was predicted to last for two centuries.

Humans are nothing if not a stubborn species. No matter how cold it got, no matter how hungry they were, they endured. They endured through the famine, the sickness, and war, and out of the ashes of death they rose. But as with all things in life, there was a price. Society as recorded in the history texts was gone, and in its place was a much harsher, bleaker, barbarian style of life where people traded luxury for survival.

Slavery was reintroduced into the civilized world, first shunned by the governments and historians but later embraced as ‘indentured servitude.’ It devolved into outright slavery when people could no longer pay their debts, and became cheap labor. 

Food was the difference between life and death, and as such the penalty for theft was to either lose a hand, or death, depending on the severity. With harsh theft laws came much relaxed murder laws. This was the apocalypse, after all; people were desperate and desperate people did insane things. It was up to each family to protect themselves against the bandit and rapists. Carrying a weapon became the expected standard whether you were rich enough to afford a rifle and ammo, or if you just carried an axe wherever you went.

By the year 2124, people had congregated into relatively huge metropolises for survival, but the perpetual winter had made resources scarce and the fight for survival became a daily battle that many lost. Neighborhoods split, then towns. Soon, kings were declared, wars were fought and lost, and the people fled society to eke out a living on the sweat of their brow and work on the land, rather than to rely on the fickle market to supply their needs, should they even have the resources to barter.

Emil Jackson had been born on January 31st, 2162, in the ancient city of Nogales. Being along the equator, it was one of the few cities that still occasionally saw the sun. When it fell to war and strife, his family, along with many others, had struck east to start a life ranching sheep, goats, and rabbits. They settled in the barren tundra of Oklahoma, the furthest north anyone dared live; it was the last settlement before the ice fields of the expanded arctic circle began. 

Oklahoma winters were long, harsh, and the grass and any other greenery was tough. But that was the point. Emil and his family claimed hundreds of acres no one else wanted, and using hoarded ancient knowledge of the ‘world before’ they put into practice forgotten techniques for animal husbandry, architecture, and dairy farming. The ranch boomed and soon their herd numbered in the hundreds; but as is the way of life, this was simply the end of the beginning.

 

Chapter 1

Emil woke slowly, the steam of his breath frosting his beard with a thin crust of ice. For the thousandth time he wished desperately for electric heaters like he heard about in the wealthier towns. He yawned and stretched, his limbs all akimbo beneath the goat hide blankets as he listened to the wind whip outside his walls and a stray goat bleat somewhere nearby. Joints cracking he slowly kicked off the blankets, forcing himself out of bed to start the day.

'I really need to get better insulation before winter hits,' he thought to himself. ‘Or at least some of those long-burn briquettes they sell in market.'

Emil swung his legs over the bed, pulling on his thickest wool socks spun from his own shearings, and stomped his feet into his boots. He walked the few feet over to the small kitchen to start the fire for breakfast, using tinder and goat fluff. It smelled awful but it worked and, well....waste not want not and all that. Life out here in the tundra was too harsh to suffer the indulgences of fools.

While the fire began licking merrily along the thin logs in his stove, Emil ducked into the washroom to relieve himself. Unbuttoning his pants he jumped when the cold hit his cock, and he swore yet again to put better insulation in his house; he dreamed of walking around and sleeping naked without the fear of frostbite, instead of the endless layers of furs, leather, and denim.

"Thank fuck for gortex," He thought aloud. 

As he walked back into the kitchen to reheat some rabbit stew, he thought about how his current crop of rabbits could use a good culling, and his pantry could use some refreshing. He went over a mental checklist in his head yet again for what he was going to buy today in market. He had thirty-three goat pelts, seventy-eight rabbit pelts, and ten compacted bales of wool to trade. It was the largest set of wares he had ever taken to market; it would net him enough coin to set himself up for a comfortable winter and hopefully establish his reputation. Perhaps even enough to take on an apprentice as help, especially now that his parents were gone. 

As an only son in an unforgiving world he’d known it was a matter of reality that sooner or later he would lose his family and be on his own. He had just been hoping it would have been later in life than his twenty three years. His father had been killed by bandits two winters ago, when the old man had gone to market to sell their latest batch of Dutch rabbits for food and pelts. His mother had died of scurvy the winter after when their bean sprouts failed after a harsh storm. 

Emil finished slurping the last of his rabbit stew and rinsed out his wooden bowl and spoon in the sink before heading out to the barn to check on the cargo he would be taking to town. He opened the snow door and frowned as the cold of the room sucked all the heat from his little kitchen fire right out of the house. Even for just those few minutes, it had been nice to not be cold for a change. 

He carefully closed the interior door, and then opened the exterior door, steeling himself, and was surprised with a pleasant breeze that he guessed to be in the high 30's. It was going to be a warm day today, which meant he wouldn't have to worry about ice on the roads. Although he would have to worry about potholes on his way back.

He looked to the east at the expansive pasture his sheep were munching away happily on the tough grass as the sun finished clearing the horizon. To the north, the goats were a little slower to get up, perfectly content to sleep until it got a little warmer. Emil headed over to the barn, peeking in on the rabbits huddled together in their well insulated pen.

"Sorry little buddies, I gotta take away the warm." Emil told them, genuinely feeling a little bad about having to remove the bales of wool stacked against the sides of the hutch. 

He then turned and smiled as he walked over to the pride and joy of the Jackson ranch, the truck. It wasn't an original truck of course, it didn't have any of the fancy bells and whistles one of the ancient trucks used to have, but it was solid and dependable, made more so by the care that Emil has put into it. He treated this truck with an old motto he read in book once: An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. So every chance he got, Emil babied that truck, making sure that it would never let him down. He even once splurged on an original logo from one of the old world trucks and placed in on his grill with pride. ‘U Haul,’ it read, and according to the shopkeeper who’d sold it to him, it had been one of the largest vehicle companies in the old world. Their trucks had been so nice that people would come from miles around just to rent them for a day or two. Emil liked the way the red letters stood out against the silver of the steel, and it felt almost as if he owned one of those fancy old trucks.

After admiring his baby for an indulgent moment, he then connected the battery, filled up the tank from the hand crank on the fifty-gallon drum full of precious fuel, and started it up. It fired up to life on the first cycle with a roar and he left it to warm up as he loaded up the truck bed with his bales of wool and goat pelts. He put the rabbit pelts in the cabin so they would help insulate against the cold.

He then checked the rabbits, making sure they were adjusting ok without the extra insulation the bales had provided, then threw a couple of rocks at the goats to get them up and moving about. Grabbing his list from the house he jumped in the truck and began his three-hour journey south to the market.

 

Chapter 2

Emil argued heatedly with the squat little wool merchant, Kim, who he was confident had been trying to take advantage of him ever since his father died.

"No, it’s two gold for a bale! It always has been, and don't you dare tell me my wool isn't the best this side of the Mississippi!" Said Emil, frustrated

"Of course it is, I never said that. I said that there's a rancher in Laredo who had a good flock this year and prices have gone down. I have to make a profit," said the short man, wearing a fastidiously clean jacket and trousers dyed red to stand out among grey light of the overcast sky. Emil had never liked Kim; his father had always said to be suspicious of men who are too clean in a filthy world because it just means they make others do their work for them.

"It’s two gold a bale, or I can find another merchant who will give me fair prices," Emil told him, crossing his arms as a signal of finality.

"You're lucky I'm offering one gold and twenty silver per! That's the old friend rate!" Kim whined. "You want my family to starve?"

"You charge a silver piece a sock, your family eats fine."

"Fine! But only because your dad was a loyal customer all these years." Kim said dejectedly, as he handed over the money, half in silver and half in gold. "Come Wintersnight you're going to have to learn that the market fluctuates, and I won't always be able to meet your unreasonable demands."

Emil just grunted and pocketed the coin, grateful to be done with the whining little man. Even though he had gotten exactly what he asked for he was positive that Kim had still bested him somehow, and one look at Kim's two children was more than enough proof that his family could skip quite a few meals without starving. 

Kim had been his last buyer of the day, since Eimil had been saving the worst for last. He had done well overall, losing a little money on the goat hide, but he’d made a lot of money on the rabbit with someone saying something about rabbit lined collars on jackets being popular.

'Even in the apocalypse people still want to be fashionable,' Emil mused to himself.

Now he could go about the business of purchasing supplies he would need for winter. He bought wood, coal, lard, whiskey, oil, two new sharpening files, nails, rope, tarp, and a variety of fresh, canned, and seed vegetables. He paid special attention to beans for the winter to stave off the scurvy lesson that was now ingrained in him. A few bales of house insulation that looked like they had been through an entirely different apocalypse was his last find.

As he walked around the market, he told the shopkeepers that he was on the lookout for an apprentice for next spring. He had hoped the Tanner’s son would be open minded, especially since he already knew the value of a good hide; but the boy was already filling in for Tanner senior who was recovering from a broken wrist. There were a few girls in town that liked the idea of working on a ranch, but they were all young enough that they would be more hindrance than help, and none of the family heads liked the idea of a teenage girl spending a winter with a twenty-something year old man. Not that they needed to worry, he didn’t like them that young. 

He even approached old man Rivers the fisherman, but he was so far beyond his prime Rivers wasn’t sure he’d make it through another winter, especially in an environment as rough as the Jackson ranch.

Emil was starting to panic. There were no hands to help with his ranch and it was far too big to handle for only one person. It had taken the whole family to build it, then two people to maintain, and now it was just Emil and he was going to be drowning in work sooner rather than later. He needed help and he needed it now, before the coming spring at the latest.

"I need a gorram drink," he said to himself with a sigh of exasperation. He walked over to the Prancing Pony tavern, thinking intently at his boot tips and taking care not to step in any of the horse apples strewn about. The rearing horse sign above the door creaked in the warm breeze as it swung gently, and the corners of the tin snow roof creaked quietly. He opened the heavy exterior door and kicked his boots against the door frame to knock free the mud and offal. Walking through the interior door his senses were assaulted by the smell of straw, beer, unwashed bodies and then, blissfully…warmth. 

In the center of the room was a huge raised metal fire pit. It’s quarter-inch thick walls were easily three feet high and four feet across, and in the middle there was what appeared to be a chunk of one of those old power-line-tree things that the ancients had planted everywhere, now roaring away merrily and filling the room with blessed heat.

Emil grumbled to himself, “At least the Pony has proper insulation.”

He sat at the bar that circled the fire pit and waited for one of the tavern girls to swing by, ordering a hot toddy once she did, and took off his outermost coat to just soak up the heat. When the girl dropped off his drink he drank in another sort of warmth and enjoyed the way it burned on the way down. The short brunette who’d brought the drink was very pretty, with a heart shaped face, framed well by her bangs, a short shirt amplified her perky tits with its rather crass neckline, and her shorter skirt hinted at other… plump qualities. He enjoyed his view surreptitiously, not wanting to make a scene, but after all he was a twenty-three year old healthy male and so was his cock, which was currently begging to have his full and complete attention. A giggle let him know he had been caught, and as he met the green eyes of the girl, he blushed and she threw back her head roared with laughter at his blush.

“You can look, sweetie, but don’t touch,” she said as she spun away with a little flair he was sure was intentional, allowing him just a peek at her cute little ass and distinct lack of underwear. Emil coughed as he accidentally inhaled his hot toddy, and brushed himself off pointedly, ignoring anyone looking at him. He buried himself in his drink, downing it as fast possible so he could get the hell out before he made and even bigger ass of himself. He dropped a few coppers on the counter to tip the girl and pulled his jacket on as he stomped towards the door.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of yellow and he looked up to see a poster board with advertisements for various wanted fugitives and odd jobs. A picture of a large man carrying an axe poked out from under another poster, catching his gaze. He lifted the poster and read the ad for the slave auction, taking place here in town tomorrow as it was held every Viernes. He looked at it thoughtfully for a minute and then yanked it off the wall, keeping it for later reference. 

Maybe if he couldn’t get an apprentice through normal channels, he could buy some help. He lived far enough away from civilization that there was no way anyone could run away, and the flying spaghetti monster himself knew that he had enough food, and there was enough room now that there are two fewer occupants, he thought sadly. 

Emil walked out to his truck and was checking his purchases making sure none of them had ‘walked off,’ when he remembered that he had forgotten to write down on his list the ceramic briquettes that he swore to himself he wouldn't forget. He paused in the covered bed of the truck, stunned by the sheer level of stupidity it took to forget something he had told himself over and over again to not forget. It was too late to get them now; the shops were all closing up for the day.

"FUUUUCCCKKKKKKK my gorram life. This is...your are......aaaarrrgghhhh!" Emil swore. Now he was going to have to come back tomorrow to get the stupid briquettes, which was a huge waste of gas and more importantly, time. He sat down gingerly on a spool of wire he’d bought to mend the pens, and quickly did the numbers. It cost a silver a gallon of gas, it took twenty-two gallons round trip, so totaling up the two trips came to forty-four silver. Plus the silver he’d already spent on supplies, and the additional fifty silver for the briquettes, his grand total was well over five-thousand silver, total cost. That left him seventeen gold pieces and twenty-nine silver for a rainy day. He could afford to come back for the briquettes. The time, however, was something he could never get that back and a second six hour trip to look forward to wrecked his day. 

Fuck it. The six hours of his life were worth a few extra silver; he'd just get a room and buy the briquettes in the morning. It’d probably be cheaper than the gas, anyways.

He stood up to crawl out of the truck bed and immediately caught his pant leg on an errant strand of wire sticking out of the spool he had purchased, tripping him to land painfully on his shoulder right on the tailgate of the truck. Cursing like a barmaid, he kicked the spool away from him and climbed out of the bed before it finished him off. He leaned against the side of the truck for a minute, feeling his shoulder throb, and tried to massage it through his thick coat, although he could barely tell he even had a shoulder under all that fabric.

He locked up the cargo shell on the bed with thick locks and made his way back inside the bar. He stumbled through the door and tried to take off his coat without moving his shoulder too much, but still winced when he had to tug on the sleeve. He probed the muscle tenderly, and shifted his shoulder around making sure it wasn't dislocated or broken.

'Just a nasty bruise,' he thought to himself, 'Thank fuck.' He slumped against the wall of the mud room and stayed there for a second, just collecting himself back into something that vaguely resembled a capable adult. He eventually made his way through the interior door to the bar, walking back inside to the warmth being provided by what was left of the fire. Flagging down the sexy server, he asked her how much it was for a room.

"Twenty silver for the room, ten for a meal, two for laundry, and five for hot bath," she said in the singsong voice of someone who has said the same sentence several hundred times. "For fifty silver, I'll give you a bath myself, sweetie," she said with a grin that very nearly made him stupid again. Emil counted out the silver for all the amenities; it had been awhile since he had washed these clothes and nearly two weeks since his last hot bath, though describing it as ‘hot’ might have been overly optimistic. 

The brunette took the money and he followed her as she walked up to the kitchen window, handing the coin over to a very plump and cranky looking woman he assumed was the owner, reciting his purchases. The woman grunted and handed the girl a key with the number four painted on it and a second key with a ‘W’, and he followed the brunette up the stairs in the back of the shop to a room halfway down the hallway on the right. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, showing him the rather disappointingly small room for his hard earned twenty silver, and unlocked a door immediately across it which made his heart sing. There was an honest to goodness washroom, complete with full sized tub with a drain built into it, a fire fueled water tank for hot water and a pump handle for cold water. The girl went over to the water heater and lit the fire beneath it to start the heating process, and then handed him a large canvas bag.

"Clothes go in the bag, leave the bag inside the washroom, and we'll deliver your clothes in the morning at daybreak. No shoes. The fire in the tavern is always lit, and the blankets are thick so don't worry about freezing. If you need extra warmth, my name is Lacy,” she said with that wicked smile on her face again. This time Emil was ready for it, and he looked her square in the eye.

"NOTHATSOKTHANKSILLBEFINE!" 

'Wow, you couldn't talk to a girl if your life depended on it, could you?!' he mentally kicked himself. 

Lacy just laughed at him, "Whatever you say," and walked out of the room with that sway in her hips that every woman knows makes men stupid. Well....more stupid. Emil just shut the door and thanked whoever would listen that at least he didn't make an even bigger ass of himself

‘Yeah, like that’s possible.’

Drawing water for his bath he filled up the bathtub about halfway from the cold water pump while the hot water came to boiling, then opened the hot water pipe to fill it the rest of the way. It was still a little colder than he wanted, so he drained a little and added more hot water so it was just on the other side of too hot. He shed his boots, jacket, overshirt, undershirt, pants, thermal bottoms and socks, reveling in the feeling of being naked for the first time in over a week. He climbed slowly into the tub and after a quick scrub, sank mercifully beneath the water, feeling the heat warm his core in a way he had very nearly forgotten about.

He started when water splashed his face, sputtering at the sudden shock bringing him out of a sleep he didn't remember falling into.

“No drowning at the Pony, it’s against policy,” said a voice from above Emil.

He rubbed his eyes free of the droplets and smiled as he looked up, expecting the pretty brunette; but instead of the flirty barmaid, he locked eyes with the chubby frown of the cranky owner, with grease on her elbow and what he desperately hoped was chicken blood on her apron. His smile faltered and he sat there, aghast, staring up at her while she looked down on him, chortling.

“Water got cold, eh?” 

Blushing like a teenager who’d just discovered kissing, he quickly tried to cover himself as best he could while the owner just stood there and smirked. "You're lucky I don't have any more customers who ordered a bath tonight. Hurry up and git yourself out of there." She turned on her heel and stomped out of the room.

Emil waited to hear the door slam and quickly hopped out of the now tepid water to wrap himself in a large towel and bolted across the hallway to his room. Leaning against the door he caught his reflection in the small steel mirror beside the bed.

'You are the king of retards,' he thought to himself. 'At least this day is over with, tomorrow can't possibly be this bad.'

If there was one thing Emil should have learned from the philosopher Harry Dresden; it was to NEVER give the universe an opening like that.

 

Chapter 3

Isla shivered in the back of the cargo truck as it bounced along down some god forsaken road in the middle of nowhere. She had been to many cities over the last few months, but this place was so much colder than she was used to.

'People still live here?!' she thought angrily, 'What sort of person would move so far away from where it is warm? It’s August for crying out loud!' 

She huddled her arms closer around her, wishing that her back wasn't to the wall of the truck, but instead in the middle of the bodies that packed the space so at least the body heat might be able to keep her from hypothermia. The rags she was wearing provided almost no protection from the elements and barely covered her skin, but no one cared what happened to a slave. She could fall over dead in the next few minutes and the only thing the slaves dealers would care about would be the loss of profit, as they stripped her corpse out of the rags and passed them along to another.

The truck made a hard right turn, shifting the mass of bodies within the truck and causing Isla to lean away from the wall and when the truck righted itself the mass came back in a rush, slamming her against the wall of the cargo hold.

She cried out as something sharp dug into the back of her skull, and she reached up to feel a gash on the back of head from the jagged end of a bolt. Her hand came away covered in blood, and she whimpered softly. The slavers were not going to be happy about this. If they thought she was trying to damage herself so no one would buy her, she would be beaten within an inch of her life....if they were feeling generous. She had already been to three different auctions and so far the only one that had bought her was another slave caravan. The last thing she needed was for them to think any of this had been by design, and she was already terrified that if she didn't get bought soon, they would slit her throat and leave her for the wild dogs to set an example for the rest. 

She quickly felt around in her pockets for a scrap of cloth, or paper; anything to stop the blood from pouring down her neck. As she scrambled, a hand reached over with a small scrap of dirty cloth and she looked up into the sad, blank eyes of the slave next to her, and nodded in gratitude. She held the cloth to her head and pressed hard and after a few minutes she thought the bleeding had stopped. She was suddenly actually a little grateful for the cold, as it eased the throbbing and probably helped the blood clot.

A few more minutes of rattling over what felt like every pothole ever made, the truck came to a stop with a squeal of brakes and a few grunts from the people at the front of the cargo hold. Isla heard the engine turn off, followed quickly by the doors of the cab opening and closing as the slave drivers got out. She listened to the voices as they were joined by a third person, and tried desperately to make out the words; but they were too far away and the walls of the truck were too thick. The voices faded off into the distance and the slaves were left with nothing but their thoughts and the dim light coming in through a crack in the roof of the truck. Someone towards the back was sobbing quietly, while the rest just waited for the slavers to come back with silent dread. 

After what felt like an eternity, there came a loud bang against the door of the truck and several voices started with fear. The door swung open to the laughing face of one of the drivers, who barked a simple "OUT!" 

The truck quickly emptied into a small field, where they were allowed to stretch and relieve themselves out in the open like common livestock. One of the drivers stood nearby with a woman and they were arguing about percentages, while the other driver stood on top of the truck cradling a rifle like it was a newborn. Isla looked around and saw the flat barren terrain spotted with small houses and the thought of running never even crossed her mind; with that rifle he could kill any of them without moving. 

She found herself huddling next to the truck engine where it was still a little warm from the drive, pulling her rags in close against the wind. After a few heated words the driver and the woman shook hands and the woman began walking off towards a large rectangular building, while the driver walked over to Isla yanked her to her feet by her shirt, tearing it in the process and shoving her after the woman, barking to follow her. Isla stumbled after the woman, her bare feet numbed by the icy ground, and tried to hold the now torn shirt closed before the wind froze her tits off. 

The woman led them through the building and into a dark concrete room with stacked beds where Isla’s ankle was manacled to the bed, the same as everyone else. When the task was complete the woman left them in the room and slammed the only door shut with a loud metallic clang, and locked it shut with a steel bar and padlock, and was gone.

Isla laid down on the soiled bed, and began to cry quietly. Soon she would be sold, or the slavers would cut their losses and sell her to the first work camp they came across; either way her life was almost over.

The next day she woke to the door slamming open, as a series of slaves with their feet hobbled by chains came in and began distributing small hard loaves of bread to them under the watchful eye of the auctioneer. They left only to return with several pitchers of water and some rags.

"Clean yourselves up my pretties, today you get bought!" shouted the woman, looking around the room without focusing on anyone, until she spied Isla and her torn shirt. "Oh hoho! I like the way you think girl, trying to get a man's attention? Well tomorrow you'll be sold to anyone who will pay for you. Maybe a brothel, or maybe a camp. Who knows." The woman smiled wickedly. "I doubt it'll be a brothel though. It's likely the work camp for you." She threw back her head, laughed, and slammed the door shut, leaving Isla to contemplate her future.

Isla looked around the room and saw a few women give her a sad look. The men avoided her gaze entirely, knowing that the auctioneer probably spoke the truth. Isla would soon end up at a work camp and be dead within the year; nobody ever made it to two. 

Quietly, Isla began to sob.

 

Chapter 4

Emil woke up very confused, with a sensation he was not used to; comfort. No frozen nose, no ice crystals on his upper lip. Or his balls. This, he could get used too. The miracle of ancient insulation. Why had he not made it more of a priority to buy this stuff beforehand?!

As he rolled out of bed he promised himself that he would buy whatever insulation he needed to set his house up to live like this on a daily basis. The only problem was, if he didn't get help (and soon) he wouldn't be able to keep up with the ranch. Soon bits of the ranch would start to break, and then his flock would get sick. Heaven forbid he had an outbreak of ecthyma, he could lose half his goat herd in a week. No way about it, he needed help and he needed it desperately BEFORE things got out of control.

Emil looked around the room for his clothes, before realizing that the cranky manager still had them. He padded over to the door, cracked it open, and was grateful to see the clothes bag hanging from his doorknob. Grabbing his clothes, he quickly dressed and headed out the door, down the stairs to the fire pit which was already being tended by one of the bar maids. He slowed down to appreciate the view of a woman bent over performing a task, then went over to the bar and knocked on the counter. The cranky manager popped her head around a corner and grunted at him. She vanished only to reappear with a bowl of some sort of brown stew, a large piece of what he thought was burnt bread, and a mug of steaming tea. She plopped it down on the counter with a grunt.

"You done with the room? Checkout is noon."

"Yeah, thanks, I'm done. I'll finish my meal and be out of your hair. Hey, I'm looking for a farm hand, do you know anyone who's interested in an apprenticeship?" Emil asked tearing off a hunk of bread and letting it reconstitute in the soup.

"I know the Tanners have a son, have you asked them?" she replied pulling out a rag and mopping up a bit of mystery liquid on the counter.

"Yeah, I already checked with them. He's already covering for someone with a broken wrist."

"Millers?"

"Only daughters, and they're too young."

"Rivers?"

"It’s just the old man, and he's too old."

The owner's frown deepened as she contemplated the issue. "Well, you could always buy a slave at market, but they're really expensive to keep."

"Where's the auction? It couldn't hurt to look." Emil spooned up some of the soup and frowned over the unique taste to the meat that he couldn't identify except as 'purple.’

"About fifteen miles south, big brick building just off the left side of the road. Ask for Regina, she's the owner."

Emil nodded as he mopped up the last of the soup with the world’s hardest lump of bread and choked it down. Pulling on his jacket, he walked out to his truck and began inspecting his supplies. After double checking that everything he purchased was still where he left it, he tromped off to the to the blacksmith to buy those damn ceramic briquettes.

'Only took about twelve wasted hours and an additional twenty-nine silver over the actual cost of the damn briquettes,’ he thought with a scowl. 

As he was walking back to his truck, he contemplated buying a few more bundles of insulation, but he didn't want to spend any coin he didn't absolutely have too. His future was uncertain and he would need every last copper to reinvest back into repairs and vet bills.

He hopped back into the truck and fired it up, smiling at the roar of the engine. In this harsh world, you have to look for the little things, like a piece of well cared for machinery that works properly...every time. Kicking the truck into gear he headed south down the pock-marked road towards the slave auction and began running the numbers for feeding an extra body. He already had the infrastructure but how much could he save skimping on a slave? This might not be the worst idea ever.

 

Chapter 5

Isla couldn't sleep. She fidgeted and shivered in her bunk, staring blankly at the wall, imagining all of the horrible things that would happen at the work camp. She wasn't sure which was worse; the rumors, or her own imagination. 

She tossed and turned for hours with visions of working her fingers to the bone from sunup to sundown, beatings, rape, and should she fail for any reason...being fed to the dogs. Alive. Isla had heard whispers of men and women who were bought simply to be used for sport, hunted like animals. Of women who were cut into and modified to be displayed as grotesque pieces of art.

Humanity had fallen, but some people had fallen further than others and those at the bottom paid the price for humanity's depravity. Isla felt like crying again, but over the last few days she had shed all the tears her body had, and now she just felt a pit of dark emptiness where her soul used to be. She picked absently at the brick wall, and tried to quiet her mind.

Just as she began to doze off from sheer exhaustion, the bolt screeched, and the door slammed open. Regina the slave owner walked in with at least a dozen large men all hobbled with ankle manacles. Her bleached white pants and jacket were covered in fine lace with silver rabbit fur trim, which contrasted starkly with the slaves’, dressed in rags that had been tied together to cover as much skin as possible.

“Gooooood morning my pets! Today is your big day so rise, shine, and big smiles all around. Big smiles means big bids, and big bids mean wealthy owners….and big profits...” she mumbled to herself. With a flair she snapped her fingers and gestured to the slaves that were cowering in the room, “Get them ready!” she huffed, and turning on her heel she stormed out. 

Moving quickly, the hobbled workers shuffled forward and began grabbing and stripping the slaves of what little clothing they had. A woman screamed, but most just stood there blankly as they were forcibly disrobed from the tatters of protection they possessed. Isla stood quietly as the worker didn't even bother trying to save the sack she was wearing, and just tore it from her frame leaving her bare in the room with so many others. One slave, however, snapped. A man of middling age and thick wrists turned on the worker that attempted to relieve him of his clothing. With a roar, he surged up against the small dark skinned worker and slammed him against the wall, grabbing his hair and slamming his head against the wall over and over again, screaming.

"I'm not a slave! I will never be a slave!" the man raged, eyes wide and spittle coming from his lips.

The small hobbled worker screamed and clawed at his attacker, attempting to defend himself, until with a sickening crunch he suddenly jerked and stopped moving. Blood began to flood from his ears and from the back of his now misshapen skull, a pool of it sending up wisps of steam as it rapidly cooled in the cold dirt. Isla recoiled with a horrified gurgle at the sight; she had never seen anyone killed in front of her before, let alone so violently. 

Four of the remaining workers piled on top of the large man, dragging him to the floor and lying on his limbs, as he screamed obscenities and writhed against their weight.

“What in fucks name is going on?!” Regina shrieked in anger, face red as she surveyed the scene, then sighing in exasperation as she walked through the blood that was rapidly cooling on the dirt floor, staining her once white boots a dirty red. She quickly took in the mangled corpse of her worker and glared at the man being restrained on the ground next to him.

“Get him up and against that wall,” she said, pointing.

The workers hauled him up and slammed him against the wall, holding him there as he screamed hate and profanities at the top of his lungs. Regina eyed the man up and down with disgust.

“You don’t choose to be a slave. You simply are a slave. You are property, a thing, for me to do with as I wish. You’ve killed one of my slaves, a valuable piece of property that I have spent months training to behave in a manner I find pleasing. You took something of mine, so now I’m going to take something from you.” From the small of her back she withdrew a sharp knife with a thin blade and a wicked looking edge.

“When a young bull gets too aggressive and violent, measures must be taken to ensure the safety of the herd.” With a quick movement she grabbed the balls of the slave…

And cut them off. 

The poor man opened his mouth to scream, and she unceremoniously stuffed his own sack into his mouth. With the palm of her hand she slammed his jaw shut, not that it slowed down his screaming…but it did make it substantially quieter. She held it shut, the only sounds in the room were the muffled screams of gelded man, the steady drip of his blood mingling with that of the man he just killed, and the sound of Isla vomiting into a corner. She had tried to hold it in, to quell the nausea and not attract attention, but the sight of a man gagging on his own genitals proved to be too much. She emptied what little her system still had.

“You little shit, you killed him! Now you are going to have to take his place. Not just as a tool for me, but also to serve as a living effigy of what happens to a slave who thinks they are anything more than property.” She spun to face the room of nauseous and terrified slaves.

“Learn this lesson well, all of you. You are not people! You have no rights! You are large, semi-intelligent, pack animals. You disobey and you will be punished. You bite the hand of your owner, and you will be put down. Never forget this!” 

Turning back to the man pinned against the wall, she barked, "Take him to the post, and bandage that wound. He has a lot more suffering to do, and I don't want him dying before I get to have my fun. The rest of you line up.”

Isla and the other slaves quickly lined up as best they could in the cramped space and stood there as a worker walked to each of them and attached a metal collar with a thick padlock to their necks. The collars had a leash welded to it that ran to a chain that connected them all together in a long line. The last tiny thoughts of escape disappeared like the last flicker of a candle, as escape was now impossible without everyone trying to escape. This was it, she was going to be sold one way or another, there were no more slave traders headed to rougher parts of the world, she was already at the brink of humanity. If no one here bought her, she would be sold at discount to a work farm, where she would be dead soon.

‘Perhaps death isn't such a bad idea,’ she mused to herself as she felt her extremities go from chilled to numb now that her core was exposed to the frigid air. The slave chain was marched out of the room, and down a long dark hallway she thought must run the length of the building. They were brought into a large laundry room where on a raised floor, large cauldrons had been sunk, and warmed by fires beneath them. Isla gaped at the room, with memories of her home in Dallol. The last of the laundry girls scurried out of the room and the slaves were brought to the largest cauldron.

"First half, get in. Scrub." Said one of Regina's workers with no expression on his face.

The first eight people on the chain stumbled into the cauldron and cried out as the heat shocked their flesh and the harsh chemicals used in cleaning burned the cuts and blisters on their feet. They quickly grabbed nearby rags and used the murky water to scrub their flesh clean of dirt and offal, their skin reddening from the process. When the first group had finished they exchanged places with the second, and the cleaning began anew. When they got out they dried as best they could with the nearby blankets and sheets before they became hypothermic.

They were quickly herded from the laundry to a large room that was best described as a ‘ballroom.’ Beautifully shined dark wood floors had rows of leather covered pews that smelled like they had been oiled just minutes prior. Heavy red curtains covered the walls providing a luxurious feel and heavy insulation. The room was interspersed with raised braziers, each lit and pumping out heat. The pews were all full of men and women, most of whom were dressed well and were healthy. They were all listening to Regina as she addressed them from the front.

Isla marveled at the room before her chain was jerked and she was forced to continue walking. She and the rest of the chain were led to the head of the room where the ends of the chain were fastened to the wall, securing them in a line facing towards the crowd. Isla felt her face flood as she realized every prospective owner here was viewing her in her most raw form. She quickly stared at the floor as Regina finished what seemed to be a well rehearsed speech, complete with dramatic flair.

Chapter 6

Emil pulled off the main road and into a graveled parking lot in front of a large brick building, that was surprisingly well maintained. It was just a simple brick building, but the stone had been washed, and the mortar maintained. Brick was a great building material, and it was awesome in the cold but good mortar was prohibitively expensive to buy since an important ingredient was only mined in the frozen tundras far to the northeast. The cheap stuff worked ok, but it was mostly made from mud and had to be replaced every season or so, which was so labor intensive it was a waste of time on a building this big. The auctioneer must have at least a dozen slaves to maintain this place.

'At least she probably gets 'em cheap,' he chuckled to himself.

Walking through the double doors, he took stock of the main hall which featured simple wood floors that had been polished to a shine, and blankets that had been converted to curtains that hid the ugly brick walls. The pews were nice though, they looked like they had been pilfered from an ancient church and were of impeccable construction. They had been re-upholstered in the last few years, now covered in leather he suspected came from his own flock, and oiled to last. He thought the braziers were an especially nice touch, heavy iron bowls and legs he recognized as blacksmith Perrin's work. He did solid work but nothing especially beautiful, like some of the intricate work he had seen illustrated in his history books, but they pumped out enough heat that Emil took off his coat. 

He sat on the pews behind a few other people and waited to find out what was going on, since he had never been to an auction before, and listened to the two in front of him talk about muscle density versus height ratios, and various injuries to look out for that could cause problems in the future. He was a little taken aback at the blunt nature of their topic but he agreed that a small slave would eat less, and someone missing too many fingers to frostbite wouldn't be much help to anyone, especially on a work farm.

He didn't wait long, about twenty minutes later a tall woman in white burst into the room with a giant smile that immediately put Emil on edge. 'Never trust a smiling salesman.’

"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you all so much for coming to this week's auction! I hope you brought your coin because I just got in one of the finest set of slaves I've ever seen in my life. All fine, healthy, specimens; each with decade's worth of service in them. Without further ado: your slaves!" As Regina finished her little speech, she turned and waved dramatically at the procession of naked men and women that were led into the hall. They had all been chained by the neck and attached in a large string that was then secured to the wall.

Immediately the patrons rose from their seats and approached the merchandise, appraising the height, weight, body fat, musculature, teeth, feet, hands, and any injuries perceived or otherwise. The two that had been sitting directly in front of Emil had made a beeline for the two men with the most muscle. A woman in a dress with a very low cut top was apprising the men and women, obviously looking for qualities best found in a brothel. The remaining patrons were browsing the same as Emil, as if they had work that didn't require a specific type or build of slave.

Emil walked down the line looking at the slaves thinking about how hard it would be to feed and house them. There were seven male slaves in line that looked promising. Two of them he dismissed outright because they were bigger than he was and he didn't want to have to fear for his life every night. One was looking past his prime, and another was disguising a curved spine as a slouch. Emil wasn't a healer by any means, but he had read about rickets when he had been learning about vitamin deficiencies for his mother; without expensive foods, that slave was a ticking time bomb. 

The three remaining were all very promising. Just the right size, young enough to do some heavy work, and healthy. The women he had no interest in, chances are the Madam would pick those up. The only concern was, both the Madam and the two men from the work farm were both interested in the same slaves as he, as was another man he guessed was a rancher from down south. They all had deep pockets and Emil was concerned that the bidding would quickly get out of hand and he couldn't keep up.

"As you can see here they are the finest slaves on this side of the Mississippi! So let’s start the bidding shall we? Please take your seats."

'Finest this side of my ass. If they're so fine, why are they all the way out here instead of in some lord’s manor?' Emil thought sarcastically. There was something about this woman that rubbed him wrong. Maybe it was the way she decorated the hall to appear wealthy, or maybe it was the blood on her boots. Either way...he was wary.

"This first slave is a fine young specimen, good muscles, good teeth, sharp eyes. I'll start the bidding at five gold."

The rancher from south raised his hand in an indifferent manner, agreeing to the amount.

"Five gold, excellent, can I see six? Six gold? Si- thank you ma'am. Do I see seven? Seven gold?"  
Regina continued in this manner with Emil bidding nine gold, then eleven, sure that no one would outbid him. He was disappointed when the work farmers bid fifteen gold, winning the auction by knocking Emil out of the race. He simply couldn't afford an investment that large.

"Congratulations, sir!" Regina said making a note on a small book she had. "On to the next item. A woman still very much in her prime, and perfect for household chores. She can cook, clean, sew, mend, tend flock, or any number of other tasks! We will open the bidding again at five gold."

The rest of the auction went very much the same way, with Emil bidding and losing on three other males. There were three slaves that received no bids at all. Two women, and a man. The man was too old and frail, as were the women, one of which was bleeding from a head wound. Emil wasn't sure where she came from, but her light skin and thin wrists suggested that she had never done any real work in her life. All three of them looked like they would collapse under a stiff breeze, no less the rigors of life on a ranch.

The auction concluded and the winning bidders went up to the front to collect their merchandise. The rancher purchased a set of full hobbles from Regina on top of the bid, but the work farmers and madam had brought their own.

Emil pulled his coat back on, and wandered outside to his truck, thinking,'Great, now I have no apprentice,and no slave. How in hell am I going to make it through winter?' He hadn't been home in over twenty-four hours, his rabbits were probably popsicles and his goats had probably eaten through the fence.

'Maybe I can head back to town and see if I can convince the Tanners to let me have their son for the winter. Good strong kid, he'd really be able to help out, and I can pay him in hides rather than coin…’

Emil heaved a long-suffering sigh and kicked the tire on his truck absently, knowing deep down there was no way he would be able to convince the Tanners to part with their son for an entire winter. Especially with Tanner senior out of commission for the next month or two. 

Emil turned around and headed back inside the auction house, to talk to Regina. Maybe she had some slaves on her own personal contingent that she would be willing to part with. For a nominal fee, of course…

He approached the front of the room just as the madam was chaining up her last purchase and leading them all outside to the covered wagon and horses he saw outside. If he didn't live so far away he would have considered selling the truck. It was very valuable, and horse drawn wagons were way cheaper to repair.

'Ha! Who am I kidding. I love that truck. Best worker on the ranch,' he chuckled at the thought.  
Regina looked up and saw him standing there, as she closed her book. She smiled broadly, showing every one of her teeth.

"Hey! Thank you so much for attending the auction, I'm sorry we didn't have what you were looking for in stock." She said, in a cloyingly sweet tone. "Perhaps next month when I get my new shipment in.”

"Well, that's what I wanted to ask you about. I really need a hand now. Is there any chance that there are any other males that you would be willing to part with? I'm sure you have a sizable group yourself," Emil asked, trying hard to be polite especially since this was all new territory for him. Last thing he wanted to do was piss off someone who could raise an army in a few weeks.

"Sorry, but my kennel is not for sale. In fact, I'm actually down a slave from a little accident this morning. Wish I could help."

"Thanks anyway," he sighed.

He looked over the three remaining slaves on the chain, and considered the females. Particularly the younger one with the head injury. Judging by her hands she was unused to work, but he could fix that. She could certainly do chores around the house, freeing up time for him to focus on repairs. Maybe she could even take care of the rabbits, and if she was at all intelligent, the goats too. He hadn’t considered a woman, initially, because he was looking to hire an apprentice, and he didn’t want any of the local families to get the wrong idea. If he bought a female slave, though, no one would think twice. After all, she wasn’t a person…just a slave. 

Pointing, he asked, "How much for her?"

 

Chapter 7

Isla stood as close to the wall as she could without touching the cold brick. She endured as people came up, poking and prodding her, flexing her joints and looking at her teeth. This part she was used to, but the last two auctions she had been to had at least let her keep her clothes on. She was beyond humiliated. She was grateful when Regina called the bidders back to their seats, but began to panic when they started bidding.

Isla was number seven on the chain, a little more than halfway. She watched as one after another the patrons bid and slaves were sold. It was finally her turn, and her heart stopped. She silently prayed to any deity that would listen to be bought.

"Alright! Next we have this female, perfect condition. As you can see she is very healthy and raw. Perfect for any brothel, and can be trained for indoor labor," Regina proclaimed making eye contact with the madam from the brothel.

"We'll start the bidding at five gold. Do I hear five gold? Five gold?"

Isla's heart dropped as not a single person raised their hand. The madam stared back with a contemplative expression, and her eyes went flat as if she had made a decision, and looked on to the other slaves on the chain. Isla could have started sobbing right then and there. Her brain screamed and railed against the world, clamoring to throw herself against the chains and wail until there wasn't breath in her body, but she couldn't move. Fear and bone breaking sorrow gripped her soul and clamped down until there was nothing left to feel, and she went numb all over.

"No one? Shame. Alright on to the next one..." Regina carried on as if nothing had happened, while inside Isla died. She was as dead as if someone had cut her throat right there and let her bleed out all over the beautiful floor.

She stared at her feet, barely noticing the rest of the auction finishing in a blur. She stared into nothingness as the buyers collected their purchases and left. Now that her life was over, how would it end? Beaten to death for not working quickly enough? Freezing to death, starving to death, eaten by dogs or any number of wild animals? She died a thousand times, each one worse than the last.

"How much for her?"

Isla heard the words and ignored them, staring at her feet, lost in her own little personal world of death.

"Her? You don't want her. She's all wrong for what you need, and would be way too expensive to keep. It'd be better to just visit Madam’s Cat-house. She'll set you up right and it'll only cost a few silver."

Isla ears perked up, and she looked up slowly. There was a man looking right at her, with a frown on his face and arms crossed. She recognized him from the inspection, he had completely bypassed her and all the other women, instead focusing on the males. His stance and clothing brooked no nonsense as he looked back at Regina.

"That's not what I need her for, I need help and I need it now," he said.

"Sir, have you ever owned a slave before?"

The man shook his head.

"I thought not. Buying a slave is like buying a tool. You need the right one for the right job. This girl has never worked a day in her life, she's tiny and injured so she’s going to be weaker than what you need, and require more attention. Also, I forgot to mention this earlier, but she's a new slave. Sold herself to pay a debt. So she's gonna try to run, fight back, and cause whatever mischief she can. I hate to miss out on a sale, but I'd rather sell you something you could use."

The man considered this for a minute. He walked back over to Isla and grabbed her wrist, pulling her arm out straight from her side. He squeezed, feeling the bones in her wrist and hand, then continued up her arm over her bicep and shoulder. He rotated her arm straight up and then back at a very awkward angle. She strangled a cry as her shoulder felt like it was about to come loose from her neck, until mercifully he let go. He then had her touch her toes and pull her knees up to her chest, while he felt her calves and thighs.

He turned back to Regina, "Five gold."

"Are you really sure about this? She may have good joints, but she has no muscle. If you buy her I will not-”

"Please," Isla whispered, screwing up her courage as for a last ditch attempt. "Please buy me, sir. I'll work really hard, I promise! I'll do everything you tell me to, and never make a peep!"

Regina backhanded her, snapping her head to the side. "Shut up." Regina turned to the man, "See what I mean, she doesn't even have the most basic of training. It should be automatic by now, a slave should know never to speak without being spoken to. Are you really sure you want her?"

The man stared at Regina his face a mask of stone. He slowly counted out five gold coins, and handed them to her. Then he thought about it and handed her a sixth.

"For manacles,” he said.

Regina nodded and made a small notation in her book. and walked to Isla and hobbled her with a set of manacles she had located nearby. Unlocking Isla's collar Regina handed her to the man with the same giant smile she used the entire auction. "Enjoy your purchase!"

Isla couldn't believe it. In fifteen minutes she went from a sure death to being owned. She never thought the idea of being bought as a slave would make her want to weep with joy, but here she was. She followed the man out the large double doors, making up the entrance to the hall, and out into the cold to a truck with a red sign emblazoned on the front. Opening the door the man stuffed her in, and then crawled in the other side. The truck roared to life, and he turned and looked her over making sure she was ready and then rumbled down the road. She leaned forward and looked in the mirror, watching the brown rectangle of a building recede into the distance, and for the first time in weeks, a small smile crept over her face.

They drove for about twenty minutes before stopping in a small town. The man got out of the car and locked it, leaving Isla alone and shivering, in a locked car, naked and shackled. She began to get nervous, now that the fear of being sold to a work farm was over, she began to wonder how her Owner would treat her. Would he be kind or cruel? If she displeased him, would he sell her or just kill her? 

The reality of the situation began to sink in. This was it. He was her Owner and not just for a few weeks. This was a permanent arrangement. He could kill her without a second thought, especially out here where her value was only what he placed on it. A slave for trade had an inherent resale value, which made the traders take care of them lest their value decrease. An Owner on the other hand would not resell, and would not treat her with the same courtesy. Isla realized that her situation may have just taken a turn for the worse. She resolved to make sure she never gave him an excuse, and to be as pleasing as possible. She rubbed her cheek idly, feeling the heat from her last mistake.

The driver's door swung open with a creak, and her Owner paused climbing into the cabin, frowning at the door. He swung the door a few times, listening to the noise then studied the sky. Isla looked out of the windshield and saw the same grey sky she always saw. She looked back at her Owner as he mumbled something to himself about oil for hinges and then climbed into the cab and tossed her a blanket.

"Put that on, I don't want you freezing before we get back. Looks like we're in for a storm, too."

"Yes... Master." Isla pulled the scratchy wool blanket over her shivering form, honestly grateful to even be considered. He looked over at her Owner and smiled. "Thank you."

"My name is Emil, what is yours?"

"Isla, Master." she whispered breathily.

Emil just grunted in acknowledgement and turned his eyes back to the road as they rumbled north. He seemed to be paying special attention to the potholes in the road, which made for a lot of swerving. Isla silently prayed she wouldn't get sick. She didn't know how long they had to travel, but she knew that no one enjoys the smell of vomit. Fortunately, her system was pretty empty from that morning.

She studied Emil out of the corner of her eye. He was a well built man, if she was judging correctly through all those coats. His brown hair was wild and shaggy, like it he used the wind to comb it, and the edges were uneven as if it had been hacked at with a dull kitchen knife. His jaw was covered in the stubble of someone who shaves only once a week or so, and had streaks of red in it. Isla hadn't seen red hair before, and she couldn't help marveling. His green eyes were sharp and clear, like the jade stones her mother used to wear. He caught her staring and she immediately averted her gaze back to the floor of the truck. Emil raised an eyebrow at her but didn't say anything, just returned his gaze back to the road.

Studying the floor Isla thought to herself, 'If he wasn't my Owner, he'd be pretty cute.'

 

Chapter 8

Emil carefully pulled into the barn. There wasn't a lot of clearance on for the truck, and there were sharp tools lining the walls. Last thing he needed was to damage his precious U-Haul. Turning to the slave he just purchased he considered her form. Her skin was flushed and taught from the cold, and she was shivering despite the emergency blanket he bought for her. He had caught her staring at him with fear in her eyes, like he was a rabid wolf that would lunge any minute, and it made him wonder about the horrors she had endured. He had to be very careful dealing with her. She might be docile now, but if she felt threatened... there was nothing more dangerous than an animal backed into a corner.

"Wait here and stay in the truck." He told her, waiting for her nod of understanding. He glanced down at the floor of the truck wondering what she was looking at, then heaved himself out of the cab. Since he was already in the barn, he quickly dropped some hay into the rabbit's pen glad to see that they were all still alive. Tugging his coat around him as the wind started to pick up, he stomped over to the house.

'Great the door is iced over again.' He bemoaned. Holding the latch open Emil slammed his shoulder against it, popping the door free of the ice. Of course he forgot to account for the ice under the door, immediately slipping and falling flat on his face...hard.

'Yeap, that seems about right. Missed you too house.' he groaned.

Rubbing his shoulder where he was sure he would be sporting a phenomenal bruise, evening out the one on the other shoulder from last night, he quickly gathered a spare set of boots. Isla couldn't walk across the ice barefoot, she’d slice her feet all to ribbons. He lugged the boots back out to the truck and opened the door to find Isla still staring at the floor. What the hell was so fascinating about the floor?

"Come over here," he said motioning to Isla. She slid across the bench seat and over to the driver's side of the cabin, all without meeting his gaze. He grabbed her chin and forced her head up.

"Ok listen. I'm going to take the chains off so you can put these boots on and protect your feet. There's no point in running. As you saw we're three hours away from the nearest human being, and all that's between us and them is tundra. If you did run, you'd die of hypothermia in less than twelve hours. If you managed to steal my truck and drive to town, everyone there knows I bought you so you'd be returned very quickly and I'd have to take measures to ensure that never happened again." He let the obvious threat hang in the air, her imagination taking care of getting the message through.

Emil removed the manacles from her feet and wedged the boots on. Using the ankle manacles as a leash, he led the girl from his truck. By the time they had made their way to the front door, Isla was shivering uncontrollably. He kicked the front door open and drug her inside, since she was having a hard time guiding her legs in front of each other. He noticed her eyes were beginning to blink slowly, which was not a good sign for her body temp. At this point she was moving so slowly he began to get frustrated. To speed things along he grabbed and threw her over his shoulder. 

Kicking open the mudroom door he carried her through the house and into his bedroom, throwing her down on the bed and piling the blankets high. He then busied about making a fire in the pot bellied stove that was in the room. Normally he saved the stove for severe storms because it pumped out so much heat, but Isla was in a bad way, slave or not, and he needed to warm her up quick. Once the tinder caught he threw a few small logs on it, and opened the flue. He checked on Isla making sure she was still conscious. Sure now that she wasn't going to die he attached one end of the manacles to the stove itself making sure that she wouldn't go anywhere, then hurried outside to check on his flock.

The goats hadn't eaten through the fence, but nevertheless three of them had somehow made it out and were gnawing on the wood of his house. Why? 

‘Because goats are assholes that's why. They eat everything you have and then pass the time by smashing everything else to pieces with their empty skulls.’

Grabbing a rope from the mudroom, he was able to herd two of the goats back in the pen, but had to rope the third, tossing him into the mud room.

Fortunately, the sheep and rabbits were much better off. After a quick feeding he threw a heavy blanket over the rabbits and unloaded the truck. By the time he had finished the wind was howling and the temperature dropped precipitously; from freezing to ‘fuck you’. Emil stumbled back into the house as just as the snow started to fall sideways in big wet flakes. The goat was bleating incessantly until he drug it outside and slit its throat, as well as a few large arteries in his fore legs. Tying its hind legs, he hung it outside the corner of the house letting it bleed out. While it hung there he went back inside to check on Isla.

He opened the door, and almost choked on the heat. The room had to be in high eighties, and the stench of unwashed clothes and goat hide blankets was atrocious. Isla was as far away from the stove as her chains would allow, and had kicked the blankets off using a sheet to cover her nakedness. Emil reached to unlock the chains, and immediately burned his hands.

"Ow. Fire hot, dumbass."

He went to grab one of the blankets off the bed, but as soon as he was hit by stench, he changed his mind. Stomping out room and over to the kitchen, he grabbed the largest stewpot he could and went to fill it up with snow outside.

Unfortunately, because of yesterday's warmth there wasn't much snow on the ground and instead he had to chop through a thin layer of ice on the water barrel just outside the door, and fill from there. Lugging the giant pot back into his room he set it on top of the stove to begin warming. He then walked down the hall to his favorite room; the bathroom.

Quickly he took in the raised floor with its half sunken tub, repurposed from some abandoned house. There was a dangling pipe that led from a cistern outside, and another that led to a homemade water heater on a stand above a brazier. Turning a valve on the side of the cistern’s pipe he allowed it to fill the tub as he bent to light the brazier to start water heating. Filling the tub about a quarter of the way, he shut off the cistern valve and went back to fetch the Isla.

The room was rank. The stove had warmed the room up to about ninety degrees and all of his bedding stank from having not been washed in the past month. Add to that the ripe sweat of a slave who likely hadn't seen a proper bath in a month... it was enough to curdle goats milk.  
Ignoring the shackle connected to the stove, Emil reached for the slave who was now sweating profusely. He unlocked her remaining shackles and pulled her to her feet.

"You smell like shit. Come with me."

***

Isla winced at the comment, thinking about this morning's bath in the laundry room. It wasn't her, it was the bedding, but she figured insulting his room and hygiene wasn't a good way to start a relationship with a man who owned her. She grabbed a blanket from the bed to cover herself with, but Emil grabbed it away from her. He pulled her roughly down the hallway and into the water closet and she saw the small tub half sunken into the floor. Emil tested the water in the water heater and it was very warm. Dumping the entire reservoir of heated water into the tub filled it about halfway and brought the temperature up to a lukewarm, but then he added the water from the pot and it was now steaming.

"I assume you can bathe yourself?" He asked

"Yes, Master," she squeaked.

"Good. Soap is in the bucket, towels are in the chest." Emil then pointed to the next room over in the hallway. "That room has spare clothes. When you're finished, get dressed. I've got to finish getting things ready for the storm." Emil then turned and left her to it, but left the door open so he would be able to see her if she tried anything foolish.

Isla crawled into the tub, reveling in the heat. She had always preferred her baths to be on the hot side, and now twice in a single day she was allowed to be truly warm. She sunk deep with a sigh, just her knees and the tops of her breasts out of the water. Her relaxation ended quickly though when she remembered he hadn't given her a time frame. He could be back any second.

She reached into the bucket near the tub and pulled out a lump of hard soap that was mostly from animal fat, with a very small amount of lye in it. It was much better than the harsh chemicals she had been forced to use earlier. After scrubbing her skin thoroughly she started in on her hair. The tangles in her hair were so thick and matted, it took her nearly fifteen minutes of fighting with it, just to be able to run her hand through it reliably. She would have to find something to make comb out of eventually but for now it would have to do. Rubbing the soap into her scalp felt so good. Little tingles went down her spine as she scrubbed and scratched, cleaning off nearly a year of dirt, sweat and god knows what else. Her entire life she had taken for granted the ability to be truly clean, but now she reveled in it even as it made her feel vulnerable.

When she was done she rose from the tub, grabbed a towel from the chest, and padded over to the room he had pointed at. This room had obviously been occupied by two people previously.

'Probably slaves. I wonder what happened to them. Maybe they died. Or maybe they displeased him and he killed them.' 

The thought terrified her. If he had already killed two slaves before her, then he wouldn't hesitate to kill her too. He was obviously rich enough to buy more as needed. She remembered his hesitance when he was negotiating for her. He remembered Regina saying something about proper tools and trying to send him to a brothel. Is that why he bought her? Was it to have a sex slave? Her breath caught in her throat, as part of her brain accepted this rationale and she began to acknowledge she was his. Well, if she was going to be a sex slave, she would give him exactly what he wanted and never give him cause to hurt her.

'Sleeping with him is a small price to pay to keep living. Maybe next spring I can escape into town and get away from this monster.'

She dressed quickly in clothes she found, though they were a bit loose on her. She even found clean socks, putting two pairs on over her feet, as the rest of the house was very cold. She couldn't find any shoes, though, so she padded from the room looking for Emil, but couldn't find him anywhere.

She ended up in the kitchen, and was eyeing the cabinets with her stomach rumbling when she saw him walk past the window holding a gloved hand over his face as the wind whipped his thick coat. She had no real frame of reference, but it looked like the storm had hit, and it was just snow everywhere. She couldn't see beyond twenty feet. She heard the front door open and slam shut, then after a few seconds the mudroom door open and slam as Emil stumbled inside and made a beeline right for the bedroom. Isla's eyes widened when she saw the ice encrusted on his jacket and followed him into the room.

'The storm must be bad.'

***

Emil peeled himself out of his jacket, under coat, and gloves and sat in front of the stove rubbing his ears. The storm had roared up quick and he didn't have time to grab his cap. His ears were burning something fierce. Fortunately in Emil's experience, the harsher the storm the faster it blew itself out.

He saw Isla standing just outside the room watching him out of the corner of his eye, dressed in some of his mother's old clothes. She was too thin and short for them, but she wouldn't be freezing any time soon. It was already late, the storm was upon them, and the animals had been seen to. The room still stank in the heat that the stove was putting out and he knew some of it was coming from his bedding.

"Did you dump out the water from your bath?" he asked Isla.

"No, uh, Master."

"Good, take these blankets and wash them in the tub, hang them up over it until they stop dripping and then bring them in here to dry. Then search the other room for any bedding and do the same."

"Yes Master"

Emil just grunted. He wasn't used to being called Master, but he figured it was a good way of reminding himself not to get complacent. She was a slave, but she was still a human being and humans don't like being caged. If she got it into her head for even a minute that she would be better off without him, she would try to kill him and run. Having her call him Master seemed like a good way to remind himself that she was dangerous.

Emil's ears stopped burning, and he wandered into the kitchen to start cooking dinner looking at his supplies and deciding to celebrate a little bit with some roast rabbit. Firing the stove, he threw a whole rabbit, carrots, onions, mushrooms, salt, pepper, and garlic into a roasting pan, put in a little water to make sure nothing dried out, and set the whole kit in the oven. Emil wondered absently if Isla knew how to cook. That would be nice. 

He then set about filling several buckets with water just in case the storm lasted longer than anticipated and froze the cistern solid, and quickly emptied all the wash basins refilling them instead with clean water. It took him a few minutes, but by the time he was done they were set for clean water and the rabbit was roasting away nicely. 

He checked in on Isla, who was struggling with the weight of the bedding from his parents room. He watched as she lugged the heavy sheets and wool blankets down to the bathroom, studying her body. She was very pale, even more so than was common for people that lived as far into the cold as he did. She was at least thirty pounds lighter than any girl he knew, even the flirty waitress. Her hands were smooth and callous free, and her wrists were very thin. 

She had never worked a day in her life. Not real work anyway. Quietly sighing to himself he thought about all the basic chores and survival skills he was going to have to teach Isla before she would even be able to help with daily routine. 

This was going to be a long winter.

***

Isla struggled with the slave bedding which was heavier than she ever would have thought necessary, It was several very thick and heavy wool blankets, as well as a quilt that had been made from the skins and fur of some animal. The bedding was so well cared for and so thick she was surprised that it was in the slave's room, she would expect to see this in some lord's manor or in a nice inn. 

‘Must be one of the perks of being a well off rancher. First pick of the herd.’ she thought. It was obvious that Emil was well off, but she wasn’t sure how well. Not that it really mattered to her. Her job was to just stay until she could figure out a way to get out.

Wrestling the blankets into the bathroom she started to load them into the tub one at a time, and scrub them clean of dirt, sweat, (and several questionable stains), then hanging them to drip dry. She busied herself with the task completely oblivious to the man who was watching her, losing herself in a task that she knew she could complete well. 

Slave or not she took pride in being helpful and the simple chore reminded her of growing up in her father's laundry. A place she missed badly. The smell of the salt baths, the chatter of the laundress’ gossiping over the days wash. The kids laughing and shoving each other into the springs. Her father buying exotic fruits for the family to taste.

She had a good life. Until now. 

Isla finished hanging the last of the bedding to drip dry from a couple wooden rods suspended near the ceiling, she imagined were for just this purpose, and checked the first set of sheets she had hung. They were no longer dripping so she pulled them down and brought them into Emil’s room. She eyed the bed intending to lay the sheets flat on it allowing it them to dry, but doubted he would appreciate sleeping on a wet mattress. 

She looked around the room for something to hang the sheets from, and spotted several coat hooks on the wall behind the stove. Smiling inwardly at her own genius, she tied small knots in the corners of the sheets and hung them on the hooks. 

‘Now they’re near the stove and out of the way. Behold the cleverness of me.’

Isla repeated this process with the last of the sheets, but was forced to leave the quilts spread around the room, as they were too bulky to hang on the hooks. Finished with her task she drained the water from the tub, and tidied up the bathroom leaving it as when she arrived. 

She padded over to the kitchen just as Emil pulled some fantastic smelling pot off of the stove and her stomach rumbled audibly. He glanced her way and she shrunk a little in his gaze, embarrassed by her unseemly noises. 

“I’ve finished the bedding, and tidied the bathroom Master.”

“Excellent.” A small smile tweaked the corners of his mouth, as he turned back to his pot. “Grab some plates out of that cabinet,” he said, indicating one with a nod of his head. 

Isla quickly scurried over and grabbed two wooden plates out of the cabinet and stood there while he dished food into them. Her eyes widened as Emil completely emptied the pot of rabbit and vegetables equally on to both plates, and then took one and sat down at the table digging in quickly with fork and spoon. 

She held the plate in her hands trying to decide if this was some sort of cruel joke. This was more food than she had eaten in one sitting, in over a year. Hell, this was more food than she had eaten this entire last week. She looked up and met his gaze, and he chuckled.

“If you don’t eat it quick, it’s gonna get cold.”

She didn’t have to be told twice. Grabbing a fork she tucked in with a vengeance. The steaming hot rabbit burned her tongue at first, but she ignored it and scooped the delicious meat as fast as she could.

She was surprised at the flavors; it was a different spice palate than she was used to, but it was delicious. Savory and sweet, with the vegetables providing a nice texture to complement the meat. This was a meal fit for a king.

Emil finished first and rose to rinse out his plate in the sink, adding it to the collection of dishes needing to be washed.

“Alright Isla, time we talked.”

 

Chapter 9

Markem sat at the grimiest wooden table this shit heap of a tavern had. The grime bothered him, but it was more important to keep his back to the wall. Too many times he’d cheated death from behind, and usually from someone claiming to be a friend. He wasn’t relying on luck anymore.

The flickering light of the fireplace at the far end of the room barely made it to his table, leaving his corner in a murky shadow. He played with the dented and scratched mug, half filled with the piss the bar claimed was beer, as he sunk deep into his thoughts. Absentmindedly he pulled and straightened his coat, which at one time had been pristine and bright, but was now stained and torn. 

Twelve years of service to Lord Aldridge, and what did he get? Literally the coat on his back and a bounty on his head. He had no idea how those letters made it into his satchel, and had only ever seen Lady Wellington from a distance. He had no interest in trying to woo a Lady who literally bought and sold soldiers like him every day. He was more than content with the local brothel, no matter what those letters said. 

Of course there was no love lost between him and his commanding officer in Lord Aldridge’s guard. When he was accused of planning to kidnap Lady Wellington for -ahem- physical reasons, Commander Archer had been more than happy to pile on any discrepancy she could think of. 

Markem tossed back the last of the swill in his cup, wiped his stubble with the back of his sleeve and rose to leave glaring at the barmaid who had basically ignored him all night. She obviously thought herself too good for him, with her short skirt and tiny cleavage. He preferred women who had a certain...plumpness about them. Her meager offerings spoke more of hunger and sickness, than attractiveness in his eye. Not that he would have turned her down, had she been interested. His current circumstances and distinct lack of coin saw him more desperate in his love life than he was used to, lacking even the resources to visit one of this small towns establishments.

He slunk through the crowded room, keeping a wary eye on several cutthroats and his hand over his coin purse, out the doors and into the frozen night. Pulling his coat around his narrow shoulders he staggered through the muddy streets of Colvain, heading more or less in the general direction of the post office. As he slogged through the frozen mud he saw even less scrupulous types watching him from the alleys, the light reflecting in their desperate eyes. He understood that feeling now more than he ever had before.

He trudged up to the post just as snow started to fall lightly in small flakes. He brushed a little snow off the painted sign outside the door, reading the destinations and departure times of the delivery coach. There would many routes heading from Colvain, it was a small town but strategically located for cargo traveling through the countryside to the port city of Tampico in the southeast.

Tracing a finger down the list he ticked off the cities and prices posted. As much as he'd love heading south to the more civilized part of the world, he knew his skills would stand a much better chance of survival in the more untamed north; where the law was loose and man with a good sword arm was worth his salt. Deciding to head in the exact geographic opposite of Mazatlan, he headed back to the bar hoping they would let him sit in the common room and stay warm for an hour or two before ousting him back onto the streets to fend for himself.

The chill wind cut through his clothing as if it wasn't there and made mockery of his unprotected ears, which were now burning with the beginnings of chilblains. Shivering now uncontrollably, Markem ducked between the buildings trying to mitigate the wind, instead trading it for deeper snow on the unkempt ally. His progress slowed considerably, as he had to stomp through the icy mounds of snowdrifts, hands stuffed in his armpits, wishing for pockets in his coat for the millionth time. Lord Aldridge fancied himself after the ancient ship captains depicted in the art he loved so much, and had his men dress in ridiculous outfits with tassels, and of course pocket-less for "good discipline".

Deep in his thoughts, it came as a huge surprise when Markem was abruptly smacked in the face with a chunk of wood, presumably a board from some broken crate. Blood fountained from his now broken nose in a spectacular fashion. He instinctively reeled back and clutched at his face while bellowing every obscenity he’d ever heard, and even made up a few.

Quickly blinking the stars and hate out his eyes, he saw a scrawny man in even worse rags, rearing back for another blow. Stepping into the hit allowed Markem to take it on the shoulder instead of the face and grab the man by his neck, squeezing even as he took blows in his side.

He was furious. Furious about life, about hunger, about his pockets, about the cold...and now this asshole thought he would rob him in a frozen alleyway?! Markem slowly squeezed the waif’s throat, cutting off his air. A stinging ball of ice struck him in the side of the face, bringing his attention to the boy who had hidden behind some crates in the alley. Likely he was trying to defend his father, and succeeded as the man wriggled out of his grasp, and turned to bolt. 

Markem lunged at the fleeing man, tackling him around his thighs, and dragging him into the snow. Piling all his weight on top of the man, he snaked his arm around the assailant's neck and rolled over onto his back in a move he learned as a foot soldier. Slowly applying sideways pressure, he twisted the man’s jaw around until at last he heard a grinding pop, and the man went limp. Shrugging the now limp weight off his chest, he doubled checked to make sure the man was indeed dead by peering into his now glazed eyes.

Markem quickly went through the pockets of the thief, taking what few coppers the man had. Ignoring the quiet sobbing coming from behind the crates, he pocketed the coin, tore a strip from the man's shirt, stuffed it with snow and applied it to his face. 

Sure he may have a broken nose, but with his new coin he could now afford a night in the hotel before his journey north tomorrow morning. Tugging his coat straight around his skinny shoulders he brushed the snow off his hips, and held his newly made ice pack to his face in effort to ease the pain. He trudged out of the alleyway making a beeline for the hostel, shouldering the door open and stumbling inside. He tossed a copper to the arrogant barmaid for the key to the washroom. 

Standing in front of the cracked and dirty mirror, he took in the wreckage of his face. Both his eyes were already starting to blacken, and his nose was cracked at a horrific 45 degree angle. He would need a healer to fix it properly. 

Not for the first time, Markem considered how all his problems could be fixed but a simple abundance of coin. If he had even a few gold, he could turn his life around in a very significant way. 

Bellowing in pain Markem straightened his nose as best he could, getting it only mostly straightened, and causing fresh blood to gush from his nose as his nasal passages were re-aligned and cleared of the coagulated blood. He let the majority of the blood drain, and then began to clean himself up as best he could, scrubbing his face with the frigid water from washbasin. Once the blood slowed to a trickle, he stuffed some pieces torn from his new rag into his nose to stopper the last of it. 

Taking one last look at his disfigured face, he kicked the door open and stumbled over to the bar paying for a room, and grumbling his thanks to the red faced woman who seemed to have a scowl permanently attached to her face.

A short trip up the narrow and rickety stairs found him in a large room with multiple stacked beds and several shapes already snoring beneath tattered blankets of rough wool. Finding a the least objectionable mattress in the corner where he could keep an eye on the door and most of the room.

Tomorrow he would get on that coach, and head for one of the only places in the world that was even worse. 

Dallas.

 

Chapter 10

Emil stared at Isla from across the table, her fidgeting exemplifying her nervousness. He wasn’t sure why she seemed so terrified, he hadn’t done anything to her. Hell, he’d even carried her across the yard so she didn’t freeze. Then again, he’d never bought a slave before, maybe there was some sort of training or expectation that made them all that way. Either way, she’d figure him out sooner or later. 

“So Isla, where are you from and how did you become a slave?”

Isla’s eyes turned down and as she toyed with her food, organizing her thoughts.

“My father wasn’t a wealthy man in the beginning, we only had a small bathhouse that doubled as a laundry. In reality it was just a small natural spring that my mother had accidentally hit while trying to dig a garden.” Isla chuckled remembering all the mud and her mother's frustration. “We started making a little money, with my mother and I washing clothes at night, and offering the bathhouse during the day. 

“Eventually we had enough money to build a second small laundry building and soon we became the main laundry in the town. We became the best by working our asses off. While my father spent most of his time running the baths, my mother, sister and I stayed up all night and washed. We worked so long sometimes we slept there. Needless to say, when you start making money, people start targeting you. 

“My father was killed when a bandit broke into the house to rob us; broke his skull with a cudgel. We got lucky and there was a group of people walking home from the pub and when the bandit came running out of the house they grabbed him, wondering why he was running and covered in blood. Turns out the bandit was the son of the local lord, who had been ousted from the home of one of his mistresses, a lady from a rival family. Needless to say the scandal was going to be huge.

“My mother reached out to the father of the bandit, who agreed to keep the whole thing quiet. The son turned up dead and my mother received gold in compensation.” Isla blinked back a tear, and tried to steady her voice. 

“My father’s life was worth one hundred gold. That’s all. You’d think that a human life would be worth so much more, but I guess not.

“My mother took that gold and expanded the business, building a huge stone bathing room. It was really pretty. Painted stone bath and tapestries on the walls of birds in flight. She always loved things of beauty, and dreamed of the life of a Lady; surrounding herself with furs and silks from every corner of the globe; never having to work again.

“The problem was, mother spent all of the money on the onsen. She assumed that if she built a beautiful bath that people would come from all over the country to bathe in it, and she’d get the lifestyle she wanted. But nobody came. 

“Four months after we opened the new spa, things went bad. With no one coming to the new bathhouse, even at reduced prices we couldn’t afford to heat the pool. Then we couldn’t afford to heat the house. Then we ran out of food.”

“In a move of desperation, my mother reached back out to the Lord and demanded more money or she would tell everyone about the scandal and the murder his son had perpetrated. He didn’t like a laundress threatening him, so he had her killed and took our home from us. Everything. The house, the laundry, the onsen… all of it. They kicked my sister and I out on the street. 

“With no food, no shelter, no parents, it didn’t take long for us to start stealing food, and of course we were caught. Since we couldn’t pay we were forced to work in the lord’s manor. The same lord who had my mother murdered because she was inconvenient. We worked there for over a year, scrubbing floors, mucking stables, painting walls, and they entire time we were charged rent and food expenses.” 

A small mirthful chuckle escaped her. “Rent. We were forced to sleep in a barn and they charged us rent. Our debt kept growing and growing. One day my sister was carrying dishes from the dining room to the kitchens when she ran into a visiting lady, spilling wine all over her gown.”

“They beat her. They beat her so bad. When they were done there was more blood on the outside than in. After that night we were sold as slaves to pay the debt on the Lady’s gown.” 

“I haven’t seen my sister since we were sold. I don’t even know if she’s still alive.”

*****

Isla finished her story and sobbed quietly to herself, reliving the past she’d spent so much time intentionally suppressing, shoulders shaking with grief as she mourned not for herself, but for her sister. The last time she had seen her she had been so broken, and bruised, she had barely even looked human. She couldn’t even remember what she looked like before then. She couldn’t see her smile, or hear her laugh. She just saw the blood and broken bones piled in the bottom of a slave cage, unconscious, even to Isla’s screams as she was hauled away for her auction. 

“Master, may I please be excused?” Tears streaming down her face, she barely waited for his nod before fleeing to the washroom and letting the tears come unrestrained. She cried until her tears ran dry, and her soul became numb.

When her she had nothing left in her, she cleaned herself in the bucket of water kept and attempted to regain her composure. A difficult feat since her owner had just seen her come completely unglued. 

“Great, now he’s going to think you’re weak and emotional,” she berated herself. “Way to make a first impression. If you don’t keep your act together he’ll decide you’re more work than you’re worth and dump your body in his garden for fertilizer.”

Opening the door she marched meekly back to the kitchen, ready to apologize for her outburst, only to find the dishes done and the kitchen empty. She checked Masters bedroom, but it was empty. Looking out the window she could see only the fury of the storm. The snow was falling so thick and fast that she couldn’t see anything. He must have gotten so irritated that he stormed off, preferring mother nature’s wrath to her instability. 

“Well… shit.”

 

Chapter 11

Emil busied himself in the barn checking the rabbits, making sure they were handling the cold. The temperature dropped from the mid thirties to negative ten in a little over an hour. There was an arctic front coming down from the north, whipping over the tundra and bringing its subzero temperatures with it, and it would probably be a day or two until it ran out and warmed up again.

Emil considered his rabbits. They could handle average temperature changes, but they weren’t really cut out for sub zero storm. Their coats were nice and thick for the winter, but the ice was already forming on the walls from the residual moisture in the air. Better to be safe than sorry. Grabbing a nearby length of rope from a shelf, he looped it through the wire mesh of the cage top, and drag the whole cage rabbits and all to the mudroom. Stashing them in a corner of the room would protect them from the worst of the elements and their natural herd mentality would keep them warm enough to ensure survival. They also didn’t much care for being drug over three hundred feet of ice and snow, and Emil figured a little bunny rage probably wouldn’t hurt anything. 

With that done he ensured that the sheep were well penned in their rain shelters, trusting them to rotate the herds to share the cold. A group of caribou wandered by the eastern fence line, heads bent and heading south towards warmer climates with the goats bleating obstinately at them and just generally being retarded asshloes.

Emil hauled in the goat hanging from the corner of the house that he had killed earlier that day, chuckling that there was at least one less goat. With the outside chores done and the house shuttered up he eyed the door tentatively. He wondered if enough time passed for Isla to pull herself together, and then pondered the irony that as a slave owner he was forced into the cold because of his crying property. 

Deciding that freezing to death wasn’t really an option, he crossed himself in an ancient prayer to the old gods and headed inside, dragging the goat behind him. If worse came to worst he could try to distract her so she could feed on the goat instead of his soul. Like the giant predator from the old earth documentary, chronicled by the noted historian Michael Crichton. 

He kicked open the mudroom door listening for the sobs coming from the washroom. Instead he heard nothing. Picking up the goat he carried it into the kitchen and dropped it on the table. He went to the cabinet and pulled out his leather roll of skinning knives and sharpening block, preparing for the task ahead. A squeak behind him made him turn and he saw a very somber slave standing in the doorway with her eyes downcast. 

“Please forgive me for my outburst Master. I spent a lot of time not thinking about how I got here, it was a lot to remember all at once.” She raised her eyes to look at him, waiting for a response.

Completely baffled as to what to do next he simply waved and coughed something about not worrying about it. He looked at her standing there all meek and contrite, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her predicament. Despite her circumstances, it didn’t seem that she was a bad person, just a victim of tragic circumstances. 

All that being said, she was still dangerous. Oh sure she was vulnerable and insecure right now -”And damn is that hot,” he thought- but she was still a dangerous, naive, caged animal; who was completely unprepared for the harshness of the farm. Out here in the tundra an untrained hand was just as dangerous to herself and others as a bandit raid.

Pulling out several knives, Emil quickly set to sharpening them while Isla watched from the other side of the room. Making long slits down the animal's neck, legs, and gut, he quickly removed the entrails and placed most of them in the sink for washing and later usage, discarding the colon and other unmentionables into the refuse bin for composting. Then he peeled the hide from the carcass, and quartered the beast. Hanging the limbs from several hooks from pantry that was double walled on the inside, but thinly sealed on the exterior wall. The effect was not unlike that of the fabled fridge-boxes of old. Rubbing them with salt, Emil made a note of the date in charcoal on the wall next to two others set there for some rabbit he had hung last week. 

Isla watched him with a queasy expression on her face, and a ramrod straight spine. She was the very picture of stubbornness. Waving her over to him at the sink, he showed her how to clean the knives, oil them, and roll them in their case with strict instructions to never sharpen them. It was a delicate procedure and new knives were very expensive.

“Clean the table and floor, while I hang the hide” he said handing her a bucket and rag. He almost laughed out loud at the look of dejection that briefly crossed her face before it was again hidden behind demure acceptance. She looked so cute when she was out of her element and screwing up her courage.

Pulling the hide out of the sink, Emil winced as blood dripped from it as he walked to the mud room. He refused to look back but he was sure that her face was just crushed as she surveyed the grisly scene that was his kitchen. 

Emil quickly stretched the hide up on a wooden rack, and salted it with the same rock salt he used for ice build up. Satisfied with his work he left the rack in the mudroom until the weather cleared up and he could relocate it to the barn. It wasn’t exactly warm in the, so he wasn’t particularly concerned with the smell getting out of hand. 

He returned to the kitchen and saw Isla on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor for all she was worth, with an adorable expression of hate and determination. Emil stepped over the clean bit of floor she was currently working on and over to the sink, to start washing, sorting and storing the gizzards for later stews. 

The heart, lungs, liver, pancreas, stomach and most of the small intestines were thoroughly cleaned and set in a large pot of water to boil. Boiling would toughen the meat, but it was the best way to preserve the meat without freezing it. This way he could keep cool in some clay pots and it would last for months without spoiling, and would be added to later meals as a protein. 

Finishing his task Emil washed his hands in the basin, and dried them on one of the bits of rag that his mother had affectionately called “tea towels”. She insisted on it, always made a point of purchasing some for the winter solstice. She talked often of an even more rare beverage called coffee, but they had only been able to buy it a handful of times in his lifetime. Emil hadn’t tasted the bitter brown brew in some time now, and doubted Isla had ever tasted it despite her mother's grandiose machinations. 

“Isla have you ever had coffee?” Emil asked. He snickered to himself under his breath as she started at the abrupt question, interrupting her thoughts and bringing her back to reality. Her nose crinkled as the odor of the blood covering her hands hit her again, and Emil had to keep himself from laughing out loud.

“Coffee, Master? Um, I think I’ve had it once. My mother bought some, but I didn’t like the taste. It was very bitter.”

Emil considered this. “Was it a very dark brown that you couldn’t see through?”

She shook her head gently as she wrung out the soiled rag into her bucket, which rapidly becoming more blood than water. “No Master, it was a greenish water that tasted like grass.” 

Emil nodded in understanding. “That wasn’t coffee, that was tea. It can be very good, if you make it right. Coffee though, when prepared properly is...divine. It’s been a few years since I’ve had it. Perhaps I should see if there is any in town next time I make a run.”

********

Isla finished mopping up the last of the blood, and dropped the rag in the bucket. Picking up the bucket she carried it through the mudroom and out the front door, making sure that none of it sloshed over onto the now pristine dark wood floor. 

The wind slammed into her like a runaway caribou; stealing her breath, freezing it, and ripping it away from her as if jack frost was taking pieces of her soul. The new clothing she was wearing was far better than she had worn in a long time, but it was nothing before the fury of the blizzard right outside the door. 

A single step outside numbed her, as her body began to tremble in the shock of the temperature drop. She was barely able to empty the bucket of bloody ice she was carrying, and stumble back through the door, she was shaking so bad it was like the convulsions of the fever driven. Dropping the bucket just inside the mudroom door, she stumbled back into the house; making a beeline for the bedroom and the lifesaving warmth of the potbellied stove.

Isla collapsed in front of the stove, her body shivering so bad she couldn’t hold herself upright. She heard Emil chuckle behind her, and looked up to see him in the doorway watching her suffer with a lopsided grin on his face. 

“I very nearly stopped you, but I figured you would learn better by experiencing. You’re not in Morocco anymore, the cold here will kill you in minutes if you’re not prepared for it. I know it feels like it’s too late, but stay there and warm up; you’ll be fine.”

Isla started at him agast. He let her do this on purpose? That fucking asshole!! She was in full convulsive shivering, and he’s just standing there like the goat that ate the apple. If she wasn’t suddenly so sleepy she would give him a piece of her mind. But this floor though. This is the most comfortable floor in all existence. Maybe she’ll just take a quick nap; then later she’d yell at him. Just close her eyes for a few seconds.

Isla didn’t get to rest very long. As soon as she closed her eyes she heard humming and several stomping footsteps she was nearly positive were on purpose. Emil, humming some nameless tune, came into the room, took off several of his outermost layers and laid down in bed, climbing over her thawing corpse in the process. 

Isla was suddenly stunned still. What was she supposed to do? His bed wasn’t very big, they would have to be VERY close to squeeze into it. She certainly wasn’t going to lie here on the floor like some sort of animal. Oh god! What if he wanted to make her sleep on the floor?! Maybe it was better than being forced into his bed.

“Stupid! There’s no way he’s going to let you out of THAT. He’s a man after all. You don’t know anything about ranching, he obviously didn’t buy you for help with the butchering. He bought your flesh and that’s what he expects. Maybe not tonight, but soon. Might as well try to win a few favor points with him and make the first move. Men like that right? Oh shit. What if he’s super rough?! Oh please, please, please don’t hurt me!!!”

Horrific and terrifying scenes of him pinning her down, raping her, tearing her open and apart, played themselves over and over in her head; each worse than the last. She was so deep in her thoughts, shivering now for a whole new reason, that when he let out a loud snort in his sleep, it startled her so bad that she yelped. Emil reacted to the noise by bolting upright, flailing his arms out and spinning towards the noise. 

Of course in his daze he neglected to counter balance himself and ended up tumbling ass over tea-kettle straight onto the floor; face planting right into Isla’s lap. They both froze. Isla was torn between laughing her ass off at the sight of Emil windmilling his way right off the bed, and scared that he was going to punish her for waking him.

“What the hell are you doing you gorram woman” Emil barked at her while rubbing his nose that hat hit her pubic bone hard enough to smart. “Don’t got no cause for scaring me like that. Damn near lost ten years of my life.”

Isla tried, she really did; but the sight of Emil rubbing his nose in pain as he whined about her scaring him. The whole situation was just too surreal, and she burst out laughing. Long braying laughs echoed in the room, as she held her sides rocking back and forth. Here she was all terrified, and he hurt his face on her crotch! 

She was laughing so hard that she didn’t see him move. Emi grabbed her shirt, hauled her into his lap and before she even knew what was happening gave her five firm swats on the ass. Isla was stunned into silence. 

“That’s for scaring the shit outta me,” he said without any fanfare. He then hoisted her up into his arms in a reverse hug and rolled over back into bed with Isla facing the wall. She laid there expectantly, waiting for him to rip her clothes off and begin her punishment in earnest. Instead she just...laid there. Listening to Emil’s breathing slow and deepen, as he slipped back into the darkness of sleep. 

She felt the heat of his breath against her neck, tickling her and making her shiver. The warmth of his chest against her back, as his arms encircled her stomach made her feel things she wasn’t expecting to feel ever again; especially not from her slave owner. Her mind drowned in confusion, fear, and gratitude; as the exhaustion of the day began to overwhelm her and her eyelids drooped. 

Well at least she knew where she was going to sleep now. 

 

Chapter 12

Markem sat, cramped and nauseous, in the rickety carriage as it lumbered its way through the city walls of Dallas. He couldn’t wait for this abominable ride to end. The stench of unwashed bodies were bad enough by themselves, but he doubted the torn and stained fabric covering the three person bench that now supported five sets of ass had ever been cleaned. Markem grit his teeth as he was sure that never in the history of gouging, had anyone ever been charged twenty silver pieces for such meager accommodations. 

Trying hard not to lose his temper and kill the man sitting next to him for his insanely loud breathing, Markem instead focused his gaze out through the windows, taking in the sights of Dallas. There were your typical shops in various stages of disrepair, and a variety of wares being hawked by stubborn, ill fed shopkeepers. Ladies huddled near a three story building that had obviously been built by the ancients, displaying as much skin as they dared in attempt to lure in a paying customer with promises of warmth...in more ways than one. 

A new and unique odor entered the coach as it rumbled by a tannery a few blocks later, with many animal skulls festooning the walls and a single stretched hide as a sign indicating the shop specialty. In a place like this they were probably the only ones who weren’t starving. Markem wondered what could drive so many people this far north, and then realized that most were probably like him, outcasts on their last hope. A wretched hive of scum and villany. He would have to be cautious. 

Just as he was beginning to wonder what his last silver and two coppers would buy him, since he hadn’t eaten for two days, when the miserable thief of a driver pulled off the main road and into a post station. The mules pulling the cart came to an abrupt halt, throwing the already overcrowded passengers against each other. Having had enough of this misery Merkem kicked the carriage door open, snapping the lock frame, and tumbled out into the slushy street. The driver must not have heard the door slam open, but Markem didn’t wait around. Turning he stormed off towards the brothel they passed a few streets ago. Even if he didn’t have enough coin to rent a girl for the evening, he would still enjoy looking at them as he came up with what to do next.

Markem trudged his way down the street keeping an eye on the alleyways that he was sure sheltered many a waif, and looked for an area that wasn’t occupied and relatively warm. Just in case. 

He stopped briefly in an inn, and asked the grimly looking lady behind an equally grimy counter if she knew where he could find work. The barkeep ran her fingers through her tangled and matted hair, tucking the errant strands back into the grease that seemed more a part of her scalp than her hair did, and eyed him up and down. 

Subconsciously Markem straightened and adjusted his once pristine coat that was now more rag patches than blue military dress. 

“That’s a cute coat you got there pretty boy. Matches your nose real nice like” the bartender said with a sneer. Markem touched his crooked nose self consciously, ‘heh, could have been the other guy’. 

“The tanners always need a hand cleaning out the barrels of piss, though I’d hate for you to get your pretty boots dirty. If you’re looking for soldier type work check with the sheriff on the north side of town. There might be work guarding caravan.”

After a quick set of directions Markem set off to find the sheriff. ‘Fuck you if you think I’m going to clean up piss and entrails. I was a captain in Lord Aldridge’s personal guard. I could kill everyone in this god forsaken backwards town without even breaking a sweat.’

It took him nearly a hour of walking to get to the north side of town where rickety wooden facade on a leaning stone building was labeled as “Sherrif”. A faded and poorly depicted badge was painted on the roof, completing the pathetic ensemble.

‘Wow. The fucking people are so stupid, I’m surprised that they don’t forget how to breathe. Wouldn’t surprise me if they beg me to be sheriff after I show them what I can do. I’ll be running this damn town in a week.’

Markem swaggered over to the front door and threw it open with a bit more force than he intended, slamming the handle into the wood paneling that constituted the inside walls of the rather unimpressive and dingy office. A series of small desks lined the walls, and a typical iron bar cage sat at the back, empty of any guests. 

The only desk that was currently occupied had a small female hunched over several sheets of paper rubbing her temples as if to stave off a migraine. 

Marching over to her desk, he looked down and saw the sheets were filled with numbers separated into columns with small neat notations having been added in the margins. ‘Must be a secretary’ Clearing his throat, in case she missed the door slamming open, he said “I need to speak with - “ 

Without ever looking up from her papers, the lady extended a single finger telling him to wait. Markem glared daggers at the top of her brown hair, and considered briefly grabbing her by her ponytail and forcing her to look at him. She continued making small corrections and notes on the sheets before her, occasionally referencing a ledger book.

After nearly five minutes Markem was incensed. Slamming his hands down on the desk to get her attention he shouted, “Look, bitch…” but he didn’t get any further. Before he could continue his tirade, he quickly found himself staring down the barrel of a hand cannon the lady seemed to summon as if by magic. It was inches from his face, and had a barrel that a small pony could get lost in. She never even looked up from her writing. 

“Ok listen, maybe we got off on the wrong foot.”

The distinctive sound of the hammer being cocked back on a double action revolver convinced Markem that perhaps she was busy, and it would be polite to wait for her to finish. Slowly, he lifted his hands off the desk and stood back. 

‘I should give her some space. She seems tense. Probably on her time of the month, and me without sweets. Yeah, back here is probably best.’

Several more minutes went by without the woman looking up from her work or lowering the cocked pistol from its position, until at last she nodded to herself and in one smooth motion, swept the papers into a neat pile for later sorting, and made the gun disappear in a mysterious lady hiding spot. 

Looking up she finally met his gaze. Her brown eyes narrowed at him and her already pinched face formed more frown lines. She looked at him as if he was something stuck to her shoe. 

“What didya want?” She said in a hoarse voice, probably from years of screaming at...well everyone probably. 

“I need to speak to the sheriff. I’m new in town and looking for work.”

“Ain’t got no work. There’s the door.” 

“I’d prefer to speak to the sheriff if you don’t mind. I’m sure I can impress him with my qualifications.”

“Oh? You can impress him can ya?” A small smile crossed her face as she looked him from sunken eyes to soiled boots. “I don’t think I want to waste the sheriff’s time with some two bit has been soldier. No matter how many ruffles his coat has.”

 

‘Damnit Lord Aldridge!’

“Look miss,” he started slowly conscious of the gun she had somewhere, “I really need to talk to him. Do you know where he is or when he’ll be back?” 

“Oh I imagine he’ll be back soon. If you wanna wait, you can sit over there,” she said pointing to an interview chair closest to the door. 

Markem walked over to it and sunk into the rough uncomfortable surface. ‘Maybe he’ll appreciate my patience,’ he thought as he adjusted his coat trying to sit on as much as possible. The chair hadn’t been sanded or made well, and felt like it was about to fall over backwards, forcing him to sit up ramrod straight.

Minutes passed as he mentally reviewed everything he’d say in the interview and thought of every possible response he could, and how he would reply to those to make himself look good. Though honestly, as soon as he told the sheriff about his years of service to a titled and landed lord as captain of his personal guard; he was as good as in. He doubted there was anyone in this brackwater town that could match him in strategy or combat efficiency. 

The first hour passed as Markem prepared, and the secretary scribbled notes. Then the second. The shadows grew long a he fidgeted in what was honestly a torture device turned chair. Eventually the woman stood, put on her coat, and walked over to him.

“I’m heading out for the day. If the sheriff isn’t back by now, he ain’t commin back. Best try your luck again tomorra.” She ushered him quickly out of the door and into the street were the mud was beginning to harden in the cold night, before locking the heavy planked door behind her with a large padlock.

Left with no other options Markem wandered back down towards the center of town and towards the inn. He couldn’t afford a room, but maybe he could sit by the fire for a while before they kicked him out. 

There were only two buildings on the street still lit and lively, the whorehouse where girls were still showing their wares under lamplight; and the inn directly across from it, in case anyone wanted company for longer than a single night. 

Markem was stuck at a crossroads of vices, and for a second fantasized about his old life where he wouldn’t have to choose between them. Sighing mournfully, he wandered into the inn and tried to sneak over to the fire without the waitresses noticing him. Like a well trained ferret, though, the waitress was on him in seconds. 

“What’ll it be love?” she said with a flirtatious smile and a stoop to grab her dropped pen. 

 

A smile crossed his face. ‘What the hell, couldn’t hurt to flirt right? Who knows, maybe I can charm her enough to get back to her room. Worth a shot,’ he thought to himself. 

Aloud he said, “Depends. What’s on the menu?” 

Rolling her eyes at the line she must have heard thousands of times, “Tea is five copper, rotgut is eight, rum is twelve, and whiskey is twenty. Food is eight silver for soup, twenty for steak. Food comes with a whiskey.”

Markem was surprised that the prices were so reasonable, back home it wasn’t unheard of to have meals cost all the way up to several gold. Then again, this wasn’t the Carlton restaurant, and he very much doubted their silverware was actually silver. 

“Just the tea for now thanks, but swing by in a bit and maybe to can talk me into more,” Markem said with a sly smile, completely oblivious to the sudden flexing of the waitress’s stomach as it revolted against her.

Instead, she grit her teeth in a semblance of a smile. 

“Sure thing love, be right out,” then she fled to the next table to get refill orders.

Markem watched her go and enjoyed the view of a woman who wasn’t starving. A little bit of a handful, but he’d make do. A sudden bray of laughter captured his attention over in one of the booths where several men were slapping the table and crying tears. Listening in, he tried to catch a bit of the joke. Heaven knows he could use a pick me up about now.

His attention focused like an arrow when he heard the word “sheriff”

‘He’s here!’ Probably had been here the whole time, getting drunk instead of doing his job. Markem couldn’t wait until he took that job from him and got to enjoy the same perks. 

Quickly he rose from the tiny table and walked over to the booth just to hear the punchline, “so I told him to wait and the sheriff would be back soon!”

‘No.’ he whispered to himself. Sure enough sitting there surrounded by people laughing and slapping each others backs, was the secretary. Obviously she had relayed the story of making him wait under false pretenses, knowing that the sheriff wasn’t coming back. Markem’s razor thin control snapped like a dry twig in a hurricane. 

“You fucking cunt! You had me wait for two hours and you knew the sheriff wasn’t coming back?!”

Dozens of eyes turned towards Markem at his outburst. His clenched fists quivering by his side were so far the only thing holding him back from throttling that bitch to death. Looking up she met his gaze and smiled sweetly. 

“Oh? Stop by for a drink, while waiting for tomorra? Didn’t expect to see you here. Tell ya what, since I may have misled you, let me buy you a rotgut and we’ll call it square eh?” Markem ignored the snickers that came from many of the observers.

“No! Shut the fuck up. Fuck you!” Turning to the two men sitting on the bench with her, “Which one of you is the sheriff? I demand to speak to you!”

Silence descended on the group, as everyone stared at him. Finally it was broken by the woman, “I’m Sheriff Harrington. What can I do for you?”

Markem’s mind went blank as he stared at the short brunette who had in the course of a single afternoon turned him into the laughingstock of Dallas, as was evident by the roars of the people surrounding him. Black tinted the edges of his vision and he faintly heard one of his knuckles crack under the strain of his grip. Before he even knew what was happening he had launched himself across the table and had his hands around her throat squeezing for all he was worth, before his world went black.

 

Chapter 13

Markem woke up slowly with quite honestly the worst headache he’d ever had, and that’s including the time Lord Aldridge had the midsummer feast and he woke in the same stall as his horse. Groaning loudly, he rolled over on his side and promptly vomited all the bile he had, but since he hadn’t eaten in days there wasn’t much there. 

He opened his eyes to try and catch a glimpse of his surroundings, but only the right one would open. Coughing sent lances of pain through his chest as he felt several ribs grind together in a way that he was positive wasn’t healthy.

“Well lookie here. Aurora has finally woken up from her little nap. Sleep well, princess?” Sheriff Harrington stood nearby with a giant shit eating grin, peering down her nose at him through the bars. 

‘Wait...bars?’ Sure enough, he’d woken up inside the lovely little iron cage in the back of the sheriff’s office. ‘Oh no, not again’

“You gave us quite a scare. I was sure that ol Lafou had done caved in your skull with that chair. By the way, you owe the inn 75 silver for the chair. Now, let’s get to the part where you tried to kill the sheriff of this here town. I heard you wanted to talk, so...let’s talk.” 

Markem groaned and laid his head back down on the floor as gently as possible. How was he going to get out of this one? He insulted the sheriff of the town (twice) before trying to strangle her to death. Honestly he was surprised he made it out of the bar alive. 

“No feeling so talkative? That’s alright by me, I honestly don’t care much.” Harrington crossed her arms and glared down at him. “Honestly I am pretty impressed though. I did some checking around last night during your little nap, and...you just got here. I’ve been sheriff of this town for over a decade and I’ve never seen someone go from carriage to hangman's noose so quickly.“

‘Oh good, they’ve already decided to kill me. Well that was quick. Didn’t even bother to call the Lord for a fair trial huh? Sounds about right. Though you did attack her in the middle of a crowded room while she was surrounded by her friends. It’s not like there isn’t enough evidence against you. Way to go dumbass.”

“I just wanted a job. I came here looking for good honest work. That was it. I didn’t want any trouble. I just wanted to work and eat.” He told her honestly, meeting her gaze with his one good, albeit watery, eye. “You’re right, I insulted you, and you gave me a concussion, broken nose, and what feels like several broken ribs. Seems to me like we’re square.”

Harrington laughed. A deep belly laugh that rocked her back on her heels with her head thrown to the sky. “I suppose in a sense you’re right. I mean you did try to kill me, but you didn’t get very far. Lafue is very protective.”

A man Markem hadn’t noticed, nodded from one of the desks in the background. No wonder his head felt like a overripe melon about to burst. ‘That guy is 6’5 if he’s an inch. Even sitting down he’s a monster.’

“Tell ya what asshole, do you mind if I call you asshole? Tell ya what I’m gonna do. You said you’re looking for work, and it just so happens that this town’s post is about to deliver a shipment of supplies to a town north of here. Shouldn’t be more than a two day trip by caravan. Post is looking for some extra guards cuz a couple got killed by bandits last time. You guard the caravan north, and then you stay there. Never ever come back. If ya do, I’ll put a bullet in your ugly mug myself. Deal?” 

Markem looked up at her wide eyed in disbelief. He was sure it was going to be a hanging. But here? An opportunity to catch a ride to another town, free of charge? It’s not like he could stay here regardless. He was now a laughingstock.

“Deal,” he said with more conviction than he felt. ‘There’s gotta be a catch, this is way too easy. It’s not like I have a choice, but hey I’ll take it.’

“Great! When you get to Ardmore, ask for Regina tell her I sent ya. She’ll make sure you get work up there.” Harrington nodded in finality. “Caravan leaves day after next. That gives ya plenty o time to enjoy the fine, luxury accommodations of the Dallas Sheriff’s Department. “

Groaning to himself, Markem laid his broken egg of a head back down on the floor and closed his eye. ‘Just enough time to start to heal up from this headache. For now, I think I’ll take a nap. A nap sounds lovely.’

*****

Markem sat in the back of the last wagon, watching the city of Dallas recede behind him while the asinine driver tried to hit every single pothole. His sides were killing him, and every pothole jolt sent new and wonderful levels of pain straight to his core.He tried to walk in the beginning, but he just didn’t have the strength and it didn’t help the pain much.

‘Maybe if I lie down? Dissipate the force over my whole body instead of just my spine bouncing up and down?’ Markem laid down gingerly on the carriage “tailgate”, and heaved a sigh of relief. His muscles relaxing for a moment, and easing his pain down several notches. Then he hit another pothole, letting out a screech not too dissimilar to a scalded coyote. 

Turns out that spreading his spine flat against the surface of the wagon served to stabilize it and reinforce the jolt along the entirety of his body. Instead of allowing his muscles to try and compensate for the blow, it was transferred to his bones directly. His broken and tender bones. 

‘Well, so much for that idea. Good news is I’m wide awake now. Probably will be forever.’ Markem thought bitterly. ‘It’s that damn sheriff’s fault. I tried to be nice in the beginning! If she had just told me who she was right from the start, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Noooooo, she had to be a bitch, and make me wait, then humiliate me in the tavern!’ 

He played the events over and over in his mind, each time the events adjusted a little more in his favor. Markem know very well what he was doing with these mental gymnastics, but right now he was way too pissed. Everytime he would start to calm down, they’d hit another pothole and his rage would start all over. 

Mile after mile, hour after hour he quietly seethed at the unjust nature of it all. It wasn’t his fault really. Nothing was. No one gave him a chance. They just didn’t listen, or even try to understand. If they would have just listened to him, none of this would have happened. No. it was all their fault. Stupid arrogant, self-entitled, good for nothing assholes.

By the time the sun had set, Markem with boiling with helpless rage. His mind began to quiet as everyone set up camp with a large fire with wood from a felled tree nearby and a large A-frame tent. He was grateful that he would have at least some shelter from the cold. The body heat of 8 people crammed in the tent coupled with his coat should keep him from dying.

As soon as the tent was up he made for it, eager to lie down on a surface that wasn’t trying to kill him. He was brought up short though, when Lafou grabbed his shoulder. 

“Not so fast there sleeping beauty, you’ve got first watch. Be careful, night is when the wolves come out to hunt, so if you get attacked...scream real loud so the rest of us can hear you and kill them.” Lafou chuckled at the obvious omission of saving Markem, then ducked inside the tent to collapse in his sleeping roll.

Markem was not happy. He’d been looking forward to getting some rest all day. He was never really able to sleep in the cell, always wondering if it really was too good to be true and they were going to hang him after all. Then he couldn’t sleep on the road without shattering like glass. 

It wasn’t fair. Not that complaining about it would do any good, they weren’t exactly listening. Even if they did, their tiny brains wouldn’t understand. So instead of lighting the tent on fire, he went for a walk around the camp, stretching his sore legs having not used them properly in several days.

He poked around the wagons for a bit, until he found some bread and jerky and quickly scarfed as much as he could. It’s not like they would miss it, there were four wagons full of supplies for Ardmore, a single (if hearty) meal wouldn’t be missed. 

Finally full for the first time in weeks, Markem carefully erased his presence at the wagon even going far enough to scrub the footprints from the light layer of snow that decorated the ground, and headed back to the fire to warm up. 

Perhaps he would lie down in front of the fire for a few minutes, let his ribs rest from the pounding they took today. Oh yeah, that feels much better. Maybe just a little closer to the fire...that’s the stuff.

Warm, full, and pain free for the first time in a while; Markem fell asleep in minutes. 

He woke up shivering. The fire had died completely, so he must have been asleep for awhile, and the wind was starting to pick up speed, carrying a real edge of cold to it. Quickly building up a fire so no one would know he fell asleep, he stumbled into the tent and nudged Lafou awake for his shift and laid down on the sleeping roll to pass out.

The next afternoon the caravan rolled into the smallest and shittiest town Markem had ever seen. He would be surprised if there were a thousand people in this godforsaken hellhole. 

From Lord Aldridge to Ardmore, quite the contrast.’ He thought drearily. ‘Well this is home now I guess. There isn’t anything beyond this but elk and ice. Better get used to it’ 

Once the wagons were unloaded and the horses bedded in the stable next to the inn, Markem went in search of work. He began by asking the innkeeper for the local sheriff, to discover that their town was too small to have a law man. When he asked further about work it seemed like no one around was capable of hiring on another hand. Most were concerned with storing supplies for winter, not feeding an extra stomach. 

Except for one name that seemed to crop up over and over again. Seems like the wealthy rancher Emil Jackson had been asking around a few days prior looking to hire on an extra hand around the ranch. His parents had died, leaving the poor young man to tend that big ranch all by himself. Surely he would be willing to hire on another hand.

Markem listened carefully about the young, rich, hermit, living so far from town; and a new idea began to take root in his mind. Initially he dismissed the idea, but the more he thought about it the more plausible it sounded. 

‘Hmmm, I wonder how hard it would be to separate the man from his money. Simple man like him, should be easy enough.’

 

Chapter 14

Isla woke slowly, eyes fluttering open to stare at a rough wooden wall not two inches from her face. Confusion swept through her as she studied the rough cut planks that had been worn smooth through time rather than proper sanding, and tried to remember where she was. 

Reality slowly came back to her as she felt the heavy arm of Emil splayed across her stomach. Obviously not used to sharing a bed, he had rolled and kicked until she was crammed onto the edge of the bed, while Emil was spread eagled over the rest. 

She heard a snort, then a small cough. Quickly the coughing became loud and gagging as Emil sat bolt upright and made horrific hacking noises. 

“Whats wrong?!” She contemplated whether or not she should get him some water, but realized she’d have to crawl over him. He probably wouldn’t thank her for that while he was dying.

Reaching what seemed to be half a fist into his mouth, Emil slowly pulled out a long dark hair out of the back of his throat; glaring at it as if it was the devil. He shifted his accusatory gaze over to her and seethed.

Isla stared at him with a contrite amusement written on her face. She hadn’t meant to choke him, but honestly; it wasn’t as if she had done it on purpose. Her hair didn’t listen to her commands ever, and it was really his own fault for chewing on her in his sleep anyway. 

Emil just glared at her some more, before pulling his boots on and stomping out of the room muttering under his breath. She heard a door deeper in the house slam shut, as she assumed he attended natures call. 

Taking this opportunity, Isla stretched out in the messy bed; her back and ankles popping in a very satisfactory way. It had been years since she slept in a real bed with springs and blankets. Even if it was a stinky boys bed, and the thick hide blankets didn’t help the overall level of funk that permeated the room, it would take many more washings to undo this level of grody. 

‘Come to think of it, the last time I slept in a bed was with Lyanna the week before mother ruined everything.’ Isla thought wistfully about her previous life, and wondered if she’d ever see her sister again. 

The washroom door opening down the hall brought her out of her nostalgia, and alerted her to the fact that she still had yet to commune with nature herself. With that done, she wandered into the kitchen to find Emil had already started the stove and was heating some sort of grain in water. 

She wasn’t super familiar with this area of the world, but she knew grits when she saw it. A simple staple of any household, it had all the basics to start the day. A small kettle was warming in the corner of the rusty stovetop, as Emil dug around in some nearby cabinets pulling out dented tins with colorful images of flowers. 

“Do you know how to cook?” he asked sleepily as he filled two small wooden cups with pinches of the herb he pulled from the tins.

“I know some of the basics Master, but I learn very fast!”

He sighed, and she flinched. She would need to learn fast if she was to remain useful. Waving her over, he explained the kitchen arrangement, and where the oats, tea, spices and various other kitchen staples were kept; as well the layout of dishes and various cooking implements. 

She already knew how to cook grits, that hadn’t changed, though he added a thick brown syrup to the tea before he passed it over. 

“Thank you Master” she said dipping her head. Blowing gently on the steaming liquid, she took a small sip. Flavors exploded across her tongue, her eyes widened as she tasted several different types of grasses and berries mixed with a sweetness she couldn’t identify. She had to stop herself from gulping down the whole cup.

“What is this Master?” Her wide eyes met his as a small smile curled his beard; her hands clutching the cup as if it was liquid gold.

“Its called tea. You told me you’ve tried it before.” His unasked question hung in the air. 

‘Trying to see if I lied? Who would lie about something like that? Maybe he thinks me dull.’  
“I’ve had something that tasted similar, but it was bitter and heavy. This is refreshing and sweet. I could drink this till I burst and still not get enough.” She said very seriously, savoring the beverage on her tongue to make it last a little longer. 

“Ah that would be the syrup. I guess you’ve never had it before.” He said half to himself. “It’s made from a tree that grows around here. I used to harvest some of it myself, but since my parents died I haven’t really had the time. “

“Parents?” she said quietly. It wasn’t really her place to ask, as it had nothing to do with her station or her duties; but she was curious.

“Dad died a couple years ago to bandits, and mom last year to sickness.” Emil shrugged his shoulders, as if it was no big deal. Death was just a fact of life in this harsh world.

‘Probably even more so in this desolate tundra’ she mused

Isla mumbled her thanks as he ladeled a bowl full of the grits and topped it off with a thick slab of butter and a drizzle of the syrup. She stood patiently next to the table until Emil sat down and started eating before she joined him. 

The rest of the meal was quiet as they each focused on their meal. Isla quickly gathered the dishes, washing them and putting them away in their respective homes. Scrubbing the sink and counters until there was not a speck of dust left, she waited patiently for Emil to give her some new instructions.

Stomping back in the room, he was wearing a new outfit, which was comprised of many layers and obviously designed for the blizzard that was still raging outside. 

“So I’m going to assume that you know nothing about ranching. It’ll just save us some time, because even if you did, every rancher does things differently.” Isla nodded silently, at his logic. “Get dressed in the warmest clothes you can find. Today I’ll show you everything we can do during the storm.”

Isla scampered off to the bedroom off the hall, where she had gotten her current outfit, and began rifling through the closet. Her hands froze on a rather ugly but warm looking sweater, as realization slammed into her like a tidal wave. 

‘These are his mothers!! This entire time I’ve been wearing the handmade clothes left behind by his deceased parent, and he never even mentioned it.’ She tried to analyze the complex and confusing emotions threatening to overwhelm her brain, but had to hurry since Emil was waiting for her. 

She shoved her thoughts into the background to be analyzed later and threw on the warmest clothes she could find, then added another layer of socks and jackets just to be safe. The end result was mismatched and lumpy shades of grey and brown, but she wasn’t afraid of freezing to death.

Running back out to kitchen, her padded feet thumping on the wooden floor she rounded the corner a little too fast. Her triple layer socks lost traction on the well worn surface and slipped out from under her sending her sliding and flailing into the dividing wall between Emil’s room and the mudroom. 

Reeling from her crash, she attempted to right herself; arms windmilling desperately she teetered back and forth for a few seconds before her left foot lost traction again. With almost comedic slowness, Isla’s precarious balance tipped, as the inexorable might of the earth's gravity pulled her into its embrace.

She landed with a thump on her back, head bouncing off the floor. She laid there for a second as her brain recalibrated, and ran a system scan. Other than the bump on her head and tailbone, she was alright. A snicker from the kitchen made her blood run cold. 

She turned and looked at her master who simple smiled. “I’d give it an 8/10. Good form overall, but needs work on the landing.”

Isla narrowed her eyes and glared at him, ‘Oh yeah yuck it up asshole,’ she thought scrambling to her feet. Her face heated with her humiliation. Her old self would have launched into a tirade, berating him for laughing at her; but she had learned over the last couple years that it was a good way to end up with broken bones and sleeping in a cage.

Emil was already in the mudroom and pulling on his boots. She quickly followed after him and took the boots he handed her. Unfortunately, the first pair she tried on were too small to even get her feet into; and the second pair were so large that no amount of extra socks would make up the difference.

Her master looked at her feet with a frown. “Great, yet another trip I need to make into town. Damnit,” he said sighing heavily. “Wear the boots for now, and as soon as the storm lightens up, we’ll head in and get you some proper boots. Clothes can be modified, but a good cobbler is irreplaceable.”

Obediently she tugged on the boots and laced them as tight as she could, even running back for a fourth and fifth pair of socks; and followed Emil out into the storm. It quickly became apparent to Isla, that no matter how many coats she was wearing she was not prepared for the level of fury that mother nature could bring.

The storm raged just outside the sanctuary of the house, with absolutely no regard to life trying to eke out an existence. The wind howled, and felt like being pelted with machine gun blasts of icicles. Her hands and face immediately began burning in the bitter cold, and her legs began to feel heavy. 

Steeling herself, Isla forced herself to follow her master to the pasture where the sheep were huddled in the shelter of a clamshell shaped structure. It took her a few extra seconds to wiggle through the fencing that Emil simply hopped over, but she managed it without falling flat on her face. 

These large and hairy animals were slightly terrifying. They looked nothing like the cute and fluffy dogs that were depicted in the drawings she had seen before. Rather instead they were large, black animals with knotted and matted hair that hung in clumps. Several of them had stumps of horn that had been sheared off.

All together they formed an imposing image. Like giant dogs, some of them even had fangs! Well, maybe they were just overly large teeth, but it was still terrifying. Yet here Emil was wading through them as they huddled in their shelter like they were no more dangerous than deep mud. One animal even got a little aggressive and tried to headbutt him, but he barely seemed to notice; slowing down just long enough to punch it in the face knocking it over and then continued on his way. 

Isla on the other hand watched from a very safe distance, preferring instead to stand out in the wind where her soul was safe from the devil sheep. She watched Emil wander through the herd, pausing to check various animals and picking some up off the ground and checking their legs, before dumping them unceremoniously back on the ground. 

She tried to figure out what he was doing, but his movements seemed random and without purpose. She would have to ask him later when he wasn’t throwing sheep around like last night's dinner refuse. 

When he was finished with….whatever it was he was doing, he wandered back through the herd and over to a small shed outside the fence line. The shed contained large barrels of some sort of dried plant matter, that emil quickly began scooping into several large troughs. The sheep were apparently familiar with this routine, as they came -literally- out of the woodwork to begin feasting on the feed.

She watched carefully counting out the number of scoops and the number of sheep per trough and tried to calculate the amount required for each animal. Extrapolating she even tried to figure out how much feed there was stockpiled in the shed. Her brain began to hurt with all the maths.

Emil finished the task quickly and with no wasted movements. She was surprised at the small amount of feed it took to sate such a large herd. There had to be well over two hundred sheep here, get they only needed half a barrel to sustain them. 

“The sheep don’t really mind the cold, but if one of them dies in the middle of the herd it can make the other sick. It’s also dangerous if one of them slips in the ice and breaks a leg. Unfortunately it’s too expensive to fix the leg, so if that happens we just eat well that night.”

Isla listened carefully and nodded along at the appropriate parts. So far it seemed fairly simple and straightforward. Broken sheep bad. Got it. Emil watched the sheep for a minute before turning to the goats penned on the other side of the house. His face fell as though he had smelled something awful. 

She followed in his footsteps, perhaps a little closer than she strictly should have, but she was hoping his wide shoulders would provide a decent windbreak. She wondered why Emil stopped by the corner of the house to pick up a shovel, before stomping over to the goat pen. 

‘Maybe the sheep are really tidy, but the goats make messes. Oh goodie! I get to shovel goat shit. Fan-fucking-tastic.’ Her mind played images of trying to get the smell of goat crap out of her hair. Had her hands not been stuffed unceremoniously into her armpits, she would have pet the shoulder blade length locks. 

Now quietly obsessing over a hot bath, Isla watched him climb over the goat fence shovel in hand. Her mouth fell open, as immediately Emil was attacked by a charging goat. Head down and shaved horns in prominence, the goat lunged. Right as she was about to call out a warning, Emil pivoted smoothly on his left leg, and swung the shovel….straight into the goats charge. 

The shovel rang out like a bell as the goat was easily floored by the blow. Emil didn’t lower the shovel though and stood ready for round two. Isla wondered what sort of deranged animal would attack like that. This was obviously not the first time this had happened. If she looked carefully, she could see a myriad of dents adorning the shovel blade; standing testament to many duels.

The goat had decided that a single bout was enough for its taste and, struggling to its feet, sauntered off into the herd as if nothing at all had happened. Emil quickly went about performing the same inspections as he had with the sheep, and Isla could now understand his movements a little better. She looked around for a feed shed, but the only one nearby was empty of grain. There were large hard white disks with holes in the middle stacked in one corner and she could see one hanging on a fence post a dozen yards from her. As to their purpose, she couldn’t even hazard a guess. She would ask once Emil was less occupied. 

Another clang of shovel-on-goat warfare brought her attention back to the pen as Emil beat a hasty retreat back towards the fenceline. This time warding off two different goats who seemed eager to test their mettle. He swung the shovel in broad but controlled swings, keeping them at bay long enough to dive over the fencing, swearing like a barmaid the entire way. 

“Fucking stupid ass, bullheaded, frog eyed, good for nothing, parasites! I swear to beelz I will end your miserable lives, and skin you for a sweater!!” Emil raged on as he threw the shovel back towards the house, and stomped off to the garage. Isla followed quickly, but made sure to keep a fair distance this time. She didn’t him to mistake her for a goat in her current clothing, especially not in his mood. 

Once inside the relative comfort of the garage, Emil checked on the truck, making sure that some sort of green fluid in the engine was topped off, and that several knobs were tight. Grabbing several handfuls of what looked like long moldy grass, and began dumping it in her arms. Completely unprepared she caught it as best she could and stumbled after him as he kicked open the door to the mudroom and held it open for her. 

He motioned towards a corner of the mudroom, and not knowing what else to do she went over and stood there.

“Don’t just stand there, dump the hay,” he chuckled at her confused expression. 

Like she was supposed to know what to do! Washing clothes she was good at, but fighting off deranged goats and feeding rabbits? Not so much. With a bit of a huff, she dropped the hay in the corner as Emil opened the rabbit cage on the other side of the room. Thirty something bunnies came pouring out, and beelined it straight for the hay she had just dumped. 

‘Oh my god, it’s like the cutest tidal wave ever!’ Isla bent down to rub several of their backs as they hopped through her legs and towards the food.

“Do any of them have names?” she said petting one particularly gorgeous one, looking at Emil.

“Sure they do! The one you’re petting is ‘Lunch’, and the one next to him is ‘Dinner’.” he said laughing. 

She pouted at his mean joke, but figured that he was right. ‘No use getting attached, they’re all going to end up in the stock pot eventually’ she thought sadly. She stood from petting the bunnies, and looked towards Emil for more instructions. 

Nodding Emil opened the door back into the cold. “Go get three more handfuls of hay that size and dump it in the corner. They’ll eat it eventually. We’ll let them run around the room and just worry about the shit tomorrow. Don’t let any escape though.” 

Isla nodded and ducked back out into the wind and sleet to go gather more foodstuffs. When she had gathered her first armfull she turned and was surprised to see Emil was nowhere in sight. Quickly she made her way back to the room, dumping her load; and then made two additional trips. 

The rabbits didn’t seem to want anything to do with escaping. Not that she could blame them. There was nothing out there but cold, and demon sheep. No it was much better inside with a full belly and no snow. 

Fleeing into her own shelter, Isla paused just long enough to shrug off her oversized boots ‘I just washed this floor damnit’ before heading into Emil’s room to find him. He wasn’t there. Not only that but the stove was cold. 

Turning to the inside of the house, she heard running water and looked down the hall to see Emil filling the bath. 

‘Alright! Time to be proactive.’ 

After her uselessness today, ‘and yesterday’ her brain reminded her, she was determined to be helpful. She quickly bent to the stove and lit a fire, feeding larger and larger pieces of wood to it, until she was confident it would stay lit for a while. That done she went to the kitchen and began rummaging through the various cabinets looking for something to make a meal out of. 

Finding the basics for a decent stew, she grabbed the largest stock pot she could find. Practically a cauldron the thing had to be fifteen gallons, and she filled it with water from the barrel outside the mudroom. Lighting the stove she started the pot to boil. 

The sound of running water cut off from the bathroom and she guessed that Emil must be starting his bath.

‘Perfect, that’ll give me time to get the stew going.’

Locating the rabbit hung in the larder, she grabbed the oldest date she saw and brought it into the kitchen for butchering. She had never cut apart an animal, her diet having consisted mostly of various fruits and boiled grains back home. Fortunately Emil had shown her a knife yesterday that he said she could use, and she began cutting as much of the bones out of the meat as she could. 

It was hard going and took a lot longer than she wanted, but got most of the meat off the bones, into small chunks, and into the hot water. She even threw in several large bones that she hadn’t been able to pick clean, hoping the cooking would separate the flesh. She then turned her attention to the vegetables. 

‘Ok, so we have tons of meat out here, but I didn’t see a garden. That means that he probably buys most of his vegetables and fruits at market. So I need to be careful which ones I use.’ Isla remembered back home, onions, potatoes, and carrots were pretty cheap. Most root vegetables actually. Assuming price margins were roughly the same, she felt confident using those. 

Chopping up several of each she added them to the pot with generous spoonfuls of salt, pepper, and something labeled “celery seed” which smelled amazing. Just as she reached for a spoon large enough to be replanted and called a sapling, when Emil’s voice came tumbling down the hall.

“Isla, come here please”

“Yes sir!”

Isla rounded the corner of the kitchen into the hallway and saw the bathroom door was wide open, and Emil was stark naked drying himself with a towel. She froze mid step. Her mind raced as she considered all of her options. 

She could go to him, and full fill whatever ‘needs’ he had, she could turn around ignoring him and just take the beating, or she could pretend she was taking a while, grab as much clothes and food as possible and just run. Her brain spun into overdrive.

‘Ok, so running is out of the question. I’d get a mile and die from exposure. Maybe if I tackled him, I could get him facedown in the tub and drown him. No, he’s at least fifty pounds heavier than I am, and look at that back. Fighting goats must be great exercise. No he’d kill me easily’ she thought to herself. 

Her thoughts began to spiral out of control as scenario after scenario flashed through her adrenaline infused mind. Each one arrived at the same conclusion. ‘Anything other than total obedience means death.’

Her back straightened even as her stomach dropped out beneath her. Terror gave way to resignation as her body on autopilot completed the last few yards. Shoulders slumped and eyes watering she entered the bathroom.

“Yes sir,” her voice quivering. 

Turning around Emil met her gaze and gestured to the bath. “I’m done with the tub if you wanted it. It’s still pretty warm.” Hanging up his towel he padded his naked ass down the hallway and into the bedroom. “Oh you started the fire! Thanks.”

Isla stood there looking at the tub. 

It was about three quarters full and had a greyish tint to it, showing it had already been used. 

The soap sat nearby in the bucket, and white globs of not-yet-dissolved soap clung to the sides of the tub.

It did look like it was still…

‘What the fuck?! Ok that was not normal! None of this is normal! Omg is he torturing me?!’ Isla’s brain screamed at her. Her psyche was a minefield of emotions. Half of her was so relieved that she felt the burden physically, wanting to sit down and just cry. The other half was just grateful that he had even thought to offer her a warm bath. 

A tiny part of her though, a mere sliver of reality, barely enough to call a thought really; was furious. 

‘What the fuck is this man doing to me? This is the second time I’ve steeled myself, and been willing to give him what he wants and he brushes me off?! Oh my god! Am I mad that he didn’t take me? What the hell is wrong with me? Oh this is not ok. This is very very not ok. If I don’t figure out what’s going on soon, I’m going to have a stroke. Should I ask him? NO! What are you thinking? You can’t ask your owner about sex! That’s like...begging him to fuck you. God I can’t take this. The stress is going…’

“Isla?”

Isla spun around, seeing Emil now fully dressed standing in front of the bedroom door. “Yes sir?”

“Are you ok?”

“Yes sir. Why?”

“Well you’ve been standing there for like...five minutes. Staring at the tub. If you want a fresh bath that’s fine.”

“No, no, I’m fine. I was just thinking,” she said shaking her head trying to clear it. 

“O...k. Well the tub is probably too cool now anyway, so just drain it and when we’re done with lunch if you decide you want a bath you can take one then.”

Isla quickly turned and began the business of draining the tub and cleaning the bathroom. 

‘Cleaning! Cleaning is good. Cleaning is safe. Clean the bathroom, clear the mind. Don’t know where that came from. What the fuck is wrong with me?’

She scrubbed the tub within an inch of its life, and may have been unnecessarily forceful when spreading the towels on the rack. Her hands slowed as her adrenaline rush began to fade, taking her anger with it. 

‘Psycho bitch, you’re going to get yourself in trouble if you open your fat mouth. Keep it closed, or he may put it to use’

Isla thought about how she had turned that corner, seen him naked, and very nearly gotten herself killed by attacking him. She became more and more calm as the bathroom became neater. A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth. 

‘He did have a nice back though,’ her brain whispered. Isla stood bolt upright so fast her feet nearly left the floor. 

“Oh. Shit”

 

Chapter 15

Emil wandered into the kitchen enjoying the sight of the pot set to boiling a large amount of stew. A quick taste with the lumber sized spoon though made him reel. 

“Oh man. Thats way too much celery seed. Dammit that shits expensive too.” 

He continued mumbling to himself as he pulled out some garlic and precious sugar. Normally he wouldn’t waste sugar on a stew, but there was enough in the stewpot for a week of meals. After a little fine tuning of course.

A little sugar, a couple cloves of garlic, and a lot of pepper later and he thought it was tasting pretty damn good. It was a little light on the meat though. Reaching into the larder, he fetched another rabbit from its hook. Using a dull butchers knife he chopped the rabbit clean in half crosswise along the spine and hung the remainder back in the closet. 

Using the knife Isla had left out, he quickly separated the ribs, legs, and back meat and tossed it all in the boiling cauldron. Giving it a few good stirs to make sure that none of the potatoes stuck to the bottom of the pot, he turned to check the fire in his room. 

Isla had lit the fire without asking, which was a waste of fuel since nobody was in the room, but it meant that the room was warm if a bit odorus. He’d have to talk to her about efficiency. Maybe in a bathhouse you want the fires always lit so people could just walk in and take a bath, but up here they needed to conserve fuel for when it was really necessary. The only reason he took a bath is because there was very little else to do, and honestly he needed to work out some...stress.

It’s not like he had never been around women before. Though that barmaid at the Prancing Pony was new, he’d hired ladies there before for a night of companionship. It was completely different to entice a wench you’d been wooing all night with a bit of coin, and another thing entirely to purchase a human being for permanent usage. 

It’s just different.

Of course his hormones had absolutely no idea about the moral murk of sex and money; and quite frankly, they didn’t give a damn. He’d woken up this morning abruptly thanks to his near death experience. If he’d woken up a little slower, his body would have followed the same routine it had for the last decade, and demanded his immediate attention. As it was...it was rather difficult to aim in the bathroom. 

Of course he told her to follow him around the ranch while he did his chores. So why was it so damn cute that she followed him like a curious little puppy all day? Her sliding down the hallway this morning in her socks? Priceless.

Worst of all was her smell. 

She smelled of jasmine. Oh god he could get lost in that scent and float away to dream dreamy dreams of soft curves. It didn’t even make any sense! His soap was infused with some pansies, but not jasmine. It couldn’t even survive this far north.

Needless to say, his biology coupled with her pheromones and general adorableness…he was a ticking powder keg. As soon as they were done with this morning’s chores he had fled to the bathroom to relieve the pressure. Now like the fabled werewolf, he had reverted back to his human form. Slightly dazed and sticky, but human.

Emil shook his head to clear the dirty thoughts. 

‘No you bought her to help on the ranch. Not as a human fuck toy. She’s a goddamn human being and there is a line’ he thought angrily. 

Emil turned back to the stove and began stirring the pot, skimming foam off the top and checking the rabbit for done-ness. It was coming along very nicely and just in time to, as Isla emerged from cleaning the bathroom. 

“Sir, that’s my job! Here let me.” 

She promptly plucked the spoon from his hand and tasted the stew. Nodding to herself she smiled. “Not bad for my first time! Though I think it needs more celery seed.”

Emil winced. “I don’t know, I think it tastes great. Besides that stuff is about sixty silver a jar. Lets not go too overboard.”

“Yes sir” she replied meekly. “It should be ready in a few minutes. If it’s ok, I’m going to wash the bedding again and maybe tidy up the room a bit. It’s still a little...pungent.”

“Sure. Sounds great,” he nodded. 

While she went off to strip the bed, Emil pondered the sleeping arrangements. 

‘I can’t have her sleeping in my bed every night, that’s certainly going to end in disaster. I really shouldn’t have done it the first time. Don’t even know why I grabbed her, should have sent her to my parents room or had her sleep on the floor. Should I just move her to the big bedroom? No, that won’t work. I don’t have enough fuel for two stoves long term. I could buy some more in town, I do have to go get boots and some proper fitting pants for her.’

“Isla,” he called, walking into his bedroom. “Do you know how to sew?”

She looked up and met his gaze, “Yes sir. I spent many hours fixing clothes in the laundry.”

“That’s great, but I meant could you sew clothes from scratch, not just alter. Could you sew a whole new set of pants from raw material?”

A look of ‘no-shit-sherlock’ crossed her face for a heartbeat, before she nodded meekly. “Yes sir. My mother taught me how to sew clothes, and I made most of the clothes my sister and I wore.”

“Perfect. Instead of just washing the sheets, I want you to strip the big bedroom of everything. You can use the this room and the living room as temporary storage. Use the mudroom if you have to. I need to work on the walls in that room.”

A plan began to form in Emil’s mind. Leaving Isla to her assigned tasks, he bundled up in his heavy coat and boots, then headed out to the barn. Rifling through the chest of tools he kept out there, he quickly located his bucket of nails and hammer, as well as an old canvas cot and some chain. Grabbing the insulation he had purchased during his last trip into town, he quickly stomped back inside. 

The storm wasn’t any worse, but it wasn’t getting much better either. The wind was still whipping sideways at several dozen kilometers per hour, and the ice was building up on the side of the house and barn rather thickly. If the storm didn’t let up in the next couple days, he was going to have to come out here and chop it off, before it started to peel off the outer boards that made up his home. 

Tromping inside sans boots, he made his way over to his parent’s former room. Isla had already made quick work of most of the chests that had been lining the walls. Their contents placed on the bed in the middle. Even the dresser had been moved. The bed was still in place, but he supposed it was too heavy for her, even before it had been loaded down with various knick-knacks and thingamabobs his parents had collected through the ages. 

Isla was currently unloading books from one of the two bookcases, and carrying them to the living room; piling them neatly in stacks in the corner. Emil bent to help her and between the two of them they finished unloading the books and moving the bookcases and bed in just a few minutes. 

After the room was sufficiently gutted, they broke for lunch. Enjoying the stew at a perfect temperature, since the fire had gone out earlier. Quietly they both sipped their fill, and Emil showed Isla several ceramic jars, lengths of cheesecloth, twine, and the shallow shelves in the back corner of the larder; leaving her to store the stew.

Hefting his hammer, he marched back into the bedroom and carefully began prying the boards that comprised the wall, out of their homes and exposing the framework beneath. When he and his parents built the house, they put some insulation on the outside walls but hadn’t considered the inside walls necessary. After all the perimeter was sealed right?

The first real winter had shown them the error of this. Insulation was not a perfect cure-all, and given enough time it would eventually allow the exterior and interior temperatures to match. Mother nature was a patient bitch, and she had nothing but time. Unless fires were lit in each of the rooms to keep them warm and insulated, eventually they got just as cold as the outside. Hopefully the insulation Emil had would slow the process down though. 

Prying the walls open, being careful to not splinter the boards and retrieve as many nails as he could, took Emil the better part of two hours. That done he began unrolling the insulation into the walls, adding and cutting the rolls as necessary. Unfortunately, he had only bought enough to do his room, which meant that he was only able to do about three quarters of the larger room. When he went into town for supplies, he would have to buy more. 

Sealing up the walls where he had already laid insulation didn’t take nearly as long, though since he was going to be buying more insulation, Emil left the unfinished section open. He called out to Isla and told her she could start putting the room back together, and then bent to the cot. 

Another convenience of having the walls open recently, is he knew exactly here the support beams were. The room was larger than his, but placing the cot on the ground wasn’t really an option if you still wanted to use the space without constantly stepping the other person. Emil had an idea, and was very proud of it.

‘Instead of placing the cot on the ground, I’ll hang it from the wall. That way it can fold up and out of the way! Bwahahaha, I’m so smart’ he thought, mentally patting himself on the back with a smug smile.

Hanging the cot was simple. Emil nailed one end of a short length of chain to the rail, and then to the support beam in the wall on either end of the cot; then repeated the process with longer sections of chain for the outside rail. It was more than enough to support his weight, even bouncing on it like a seizing cow.

A simple piece of wire and a nail on the wall allowed the cot to be folded up flat, freeing up the floor space for use.

‘Sometimes I’m so damn good I scare myself. Now Isla can keep her hair to herself!’

“Isla come in here please.”

She quickly rounded the corner into the bedroom, a damp rag in one hand. “Yes master?’

“I put this bed together for you, so you don’t have to sleep in mine. This way we only have to use one stove and we can both stay warm.”

Isla looked from the cot to him with an unreadable expression. “Thank you sir,” she said. Though her neutral tone took him slightly aback. 

“Whats wrong? Don’t you like it?” 

“Yes sir. Thank you.” she said nodding. 

Emil shrugged. It’s been a long time since he dealt with people in a close space like this. Maybe he just wasn’t reading her very well. 

“Tomorrow we will head back into town and grab a few more supplies. I honestly didn’t even think about getting you a proper set of boots or clothes last time. I was too busy thinking about my herd and the storm. Now that they’re all packed in, they should be fine for a quick jaunt into market. If you have anything you can think of that you need, now is the time to mention it.”

Isla stared at the floor thinking. 

‘What is with her and floors. Every time she’s in the same room as me, she’s looking at the damn floor,’ he thought.

Her face reddened, and without looking up she said, “There are a few things I would like Master. Some...women things.”

Terror shot through Emil. He hadn’t even considered her unique biological needs. ‘Way to go! You drag her all the way up here, and didn’t even make sure she had the proper equipment to deal with her...time. Stupid stupid stupid.’ 

Clearing his throat he tried to cover up his mistake. “Does my mother’s things not have the proper supplies?”

“No sir. I looked while we moved the chests and it appears that she was beyond the need for such items. At least I couldn’t find any.” 

Emil nodded as if listening to a Lord ask his advice on trade routes. “Very well, I’ll just bring you with me and we can get what you need”

Isla bowed her red face. “Thank you master,” then returned to continue scrubbing whatever it was in the other room. 

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and mentally kicked himself for screwing up so bad. She obviously didn’t like the bed, and she was understandably upset that he had completely forgotten female biology. 

‘If there was an award to dumbass of the year, you’d be a shoe in.’

To distract himself, Emil began putting the room back together. As he filled the chests with spare blankets, bits of lace and his mothers sewing kits, he paused to fondle each one. Most of the items had some pretty powerful memories associated with them. They even had stored several bits of paper that he had drawn on as a child, pictures of flowers and the house...and what looked like a drunk ant the size of a uhaul. ‘Well it’s cute, even if its not artistic.’

With the room back in some semblance of living condition, with the exception of the wall nearest the door, he gathered his tools and nail bucket. It only took a few minutes to bundle up, drop the equipment back in the barn and scurry back inside. He checked on the rabbits in the mudroom on his way back in. They had shit everywhere, but other than that they were doing fine. Perfectly content to just eat the last of the hay left for them and fuck each other. 

He walked back inside to a spotless kitchen, and a small saucepan of earlier’s stew bubbling away. Isla stood from putting some large wooden bowls away in a lower cabinet to face him. 

“Perfect timing sir, soup is ready. Please sit down and I’ll dish some up.”

Emil dropped into his chair and tried not to smile. ‘Ok, so having a slave is a little cool.’

Isla set a piping hot bowl in front of him and waited next to his chair as he sipped it. “It’s perfect temperature. Thank you Isla.”

“Of course master.”

She retreated to fill her own bowl and join him at the table, bringing two cups of water as well. They ate quickly, with Isla asking if he wanted more just as the last spoon was empty. He declined and thanked her again.

“The room is as good as it’s going to get right now, and it’ll be dark in about two hours. I’m gonna take another bath and then hit the sack. I’m going to enjoy the extra sleep while I can, I’m sure this storm is causing havoc all over my ranch.”

Emil retreated to his bath, and after waiting for the bath to fill, sunk into the steamy liquid and closed his eyes. It was rare for him to get two baths a week. Two in one day? Never. Why not though? He had nothing to do, nowhere to go, and an adorable girl to get out of his thoughts. 

Of course trying not to think about her, just made it worse. Now that’s all he could think about. He remembered seeing her naked, and at the time it was just the reality of the situation, and he was far more concerned with getting her warmed up. Now that things had settled a little bit, he was thinking about what lay beneath those clothes in a way that was far from proper.

Peeking one eye towards the door to make sure it was closed, his hand drifted south to his hardening cock. Sensation shot through him as his hand wrapped around his pulsing member, gentle strokes in the warm water easy to imagine as the inviting wetness of Isla’s pussy. It didn’t take him long to get lost in the fantasy, picturing her hair as a halo around her as she lay on his bed. Legs open and inviting. Mouth quivering, just on the verge of begging for it. Her chocolate eyes looked up at him with lust and she bit her lower lip.

Knock knock knock

“Sir? Are you nearly done? I’ve brought a towel that I’ve warmed near the stove.” Isla called through the door, clearing the lusty air like a bucket of ice water in winter. 

Water sloshed everywhere as Emil jumped, flailing in the tub grabbing onto anything that wasn’t himself. 

“Yeah I’m almost done. Just leave the towel by the door and I’ll grab it thanks” his voice shrieked. ‘Way to play it cool man.’

Emil laid back in the tub and felt his heart pounding against his chest. Good thing was, he no longer needed a distraction from the thoughts rampaging inside his head. Panic, as it turns out, is an excellent mood killer. 

As soon as he was calmed enough, Emil got out of the bath and stopped himself from draining it; remembering that Isla hadn’t taken one yet. Walking over to the door he opened it, expecting to see the towel on the floor, but instead she was standing there holding it out for him.

Emil had no idea what to do. Here he was naked as the day he was hatched, fresh from the tub where he had been fantasizing about the woman in front of him. Water dripped onto the floor as Isla and Emil just looked at each other. He quickly snatched the towel out of her hands and started drying off. 

He wasn’t ashamed of being naked. In a house as small as this nudity was just a part of life. He’d lost count of how many times he’d seen his parents naked over the course of his life. This was different though. He’d never had feelings about his parents. Even when she saw him naked earlier it was after he’d been able to relax. 

Emil quickly turned his back to her as he dried off, lest she see his growing problem. He had finally been able to calm down, and then, bam, there she was in the doorway with him buck naked. 

He finished drying and wrapped the towel around his waist. “Thank you Isla. The bath is still pretty warm, I wasn’t in for too long. “

Isla nodded not saying anything, and entered the bathroom to feel the water. A small callous free hand dipped in, and tested the surface of the water. Apparently satisfied, Isla reached down to the hem of her shirt and started pulling it upwards. 

Emil turned and quickly bolted from the room, closing the door behind him and practically leaped across the hallway to his new room. It looked like Isla hadn’t had a chance to finish moving all his clothes to the new room yet, but he found a pair of his dad’s old pants that were a little short but fit ok. 

‘Well, my pants now I guess’ he thought somberly. 

After his mother died, Emil had just kind of...continued. He’d cleaned up his parents room and put everything away, but beyond that his day to day routine had never changed. It was a lot quieter, but really that was the only difference. 

Now with Isla here, he had to face the fact that things were going to change. This wasn’t his mom and dad’s house; it was his. They weren’t his mothers sewing supplies; they were his. 

It was going to take some getting used to. 

Rummaging through the clothes, Emil found an old shirt and sweater as well as socks. The sweater was a bit tight on him, but it was just sleepwear so no big deal. He bent to start the fire in the pot bellied stove in the corner of the room and fed several logs and ceramic briquettes into it. He’d retrieve the ones currently in use from his old bedroom tomorrow morning. 

Emil picked a book from the bookcase. It was one of his favorites, it chronicled the story of a man who used a ship to travel the stars, but became trapped in a dream while sleeping between planets. He wasn’t sure if the “Otherlife Dreams” was an accurate diary, or just a fun story. It didn’t really matter.

He had just gotten into the part of the book where Runner meets a thief on the road, when Isla stepped into the room, wrapped in a towel and soaking wet hair down her back. She rifled through the clothes in the closet and selected several garments. Letting the towel fall, she began to dress.

Emil tried to keep his eyes on his book, but it was futile. This time when he took in her shape, it wasn’t just because he was checking for chilblains. Her skin was dusky, like a cup of thin whiskey. Her black hair came down to her shoulder blades and pooled in the dent where her back met her spine. The long curve of her spine waved back and forth as she pulled on her pants, like a snake hypnotizing its prey. Where it met her ass though, that’s where magic happened. 

Her was perfection of flawless tanned skin, plump cheeks, and dimples. Each firm globe would perfectly fit in his hand, and begging to be bitten. If time stopped and Emil was frozen for all existence staring at that ass, he would consider it time well spent. Sadly her pants covered the heavenly rear much too quickly, and she never turned to give him a peek at her chest. 

He shifted in bed adjusting his dick, which was paying just as much attention as he was. It fed him images of her bent over the bed and being rammed from behind, bouncing over his cock like a slow motion jello mold of pure lust. 

Isla turned and Emil glued his eyes back to his book, trying to give off no indication that he’d just been eye fucking her so hard that they should both be panting. 

“Did you need anything else master?”

Clearing his throat he met her gaze, “No. I’m going to read for a bit, and then go to sleep. There are candles in the box on the bookcase if you’d like to read. Sorry about the cot, I just figured you’d want your own space. I’ll think of something else if you want.”

She shook her head at him, “No sir, the cot is fine, thank you.” She then bent to the shelf and after a few minutes of looking, picked out a book and a candle. She crawled into her cot, where she had placed a small pillow and several blankets and began to read. The book was too far away for Emil to see the cover but it was a large book and he could see drawings on some of the pages. 

‘Probably a book about flowers. Girls like flowers. Jasmine is a flower. No! Stop it! Shut up you stupid penis. Go to sleep while I read my book.’ 

Emil dove back into the novel and read until his eyes grew heavy. He didn’t even notice when he fell asleep and the book fell to the side. He slept deeply, dreaming of running his hands along a tan back, and knotting his hands into black hair. 

Chapter 16

Isla read by candle light until she heard the snores from Emil’s bed. She was beyond confused by today’s events and was having a hard time keeping her mind in “Agricultural Mechanics: Fundamentals and Applications.” As fascinating as the concept of using large machines to aid in planting and harvesting was, it couldn’t hold a candle to the storm of thoughts running through her mind.

‘Ok, so let’s try and figure this out. So he didn’t jump you this morning, and thats when a lot of guys “wake up” in more way than one. He didn’t ask you to join him in the bath...either time. Then he made you a separate bed, instead of making you share his. The question is: why does a man buy a woman at a slave auction, take her home, and then NOT fuck her.’

The question ran around and around her brain. She came up with dozens of theories, and discarded each of them. The only thing that made any sort of sense was that he didn’t want to sleep with her. 

She knew there were men who preferred the company of other men to women; but she had never heard of a man like that who lived so far from a proper city. 

‘This far away from everything, he must really be turned off by women to not take advantage of one who couldn’t say no.’

At first she was a little creeped out by a man who’s lifestyle was so completely foreign to hers; but as she laid there for a while, she began to like the idea more and more. A man who so far, hadn’t hit her, yelled at her, degraded her...and didn’t want her body.

‘It most certainly be worse. Perhaps I’m was the luckiest woman on the planet to come across the only man in the northern hemisphere who won’t abuse a slave. It’s actually kind of perfect.’

And just like that the bubble burst.

Her father had told her when she was a child learning how a laundry worked, to beware the deal that was too good. Nobody in the history of the world ever did anything that didn’t benefit them in some way. Oh sure, Emil said he needed a ranch hand; but from what she had seen the ranch was in good condition and the chores hadn’t taken him that long to finish. 

No there was something else he wanted, she was sure of it. What though? She had no idea how to milk a goat, or shave a sheep. She couldn’t ride a horse, and he had none. She’d never even held a hammer, and couldn’t begin to fathom where to start with fixing a truck. 

Even though she only cost a measly five gold, there was no way that he bought her just to cook and clean. No, there was something else. For the life of her she couldn’t figure it out. The candle burned low as she thought in circles until eventually, exhausted from worry, she snuffed it out and went to sleep.

She woke in the morning with her arm numb from having slept on it all night and a crick in her back from the hard rail on the cot. She moaned and rolled over, trying to work some feeling back into her arm. She looked over to the bed and saw Emil sprawled out across it and a large wet spot next to his mouth. 

She snickered at him drooling and got up to attend nature. She saw light streaming in through the windows in the kitchen and saw the storm was still in full fury. She started a pot of water for tea and a second for breakfast, and searched through the barrels in the kitchen for some kind of fruit.

She found a small bucket of apples had seen better days, their skin a little shriveled and flesh beginning to dry out. She chopped a couple up and added them to the the grits, hoping the water would help reconstitute them a bit. 

She heard Emil slam the door to the bathroom and was able to get the grits, tea, and sweet syrup on the table by the time he stumbled into the kitchen. He blinked stupidly at the meal already set and mumbled his thanks as he sat down. 

Isla waited for him to sit and take a bite of breakfast to make sure there wasn’t anything else he needed before she took her seat opposite him and ate her own meal. She watched carefully, and refilled his tea as soon as it was empty, and though she offered to make him second helpings he declined. 

He stumbled off to the room to put get ready for his day, as she washed and put away the dishes and hurried to get herself ready. She quickly threw on several of the thickest sweaters she could find, and topped it off with a heavy coat. Five pairs of socks later and she was ready to follow Emil around for the morning chores.

While he was checking on the sheep, ‘are there more of them than yesterday?’ she filled the troughs with the feed from the small shack. The sheep were still terrifying, but she forced herself to stand still gritting her teeth, when they rushed the food. 

She handed Emil his weapon as he clambered over and into the goat pen, and began swinging the shovel around even though there were no goats even near him. He was able to start checking the herd when, with a mangled yelp, he disappeared. Isla panicked, and climbed over the fencing to go help him. 

‘Maybe he fell in a pothole and twisted his ankle, or got bit by something in the ground.’

She had barely made it a few yards inside the pen, when Emil surged to his feet holding a goat by its feet. He spun in a small circle and threw the goat back into the herd like a sack of grain, shouting expletives at the top of his lungs. 

Convinced that the goats would survive another day, they both retreated back behind the safety of the fence and headed back towards the barn.

“Do you have a complete list of everything you need from market,” he asked her as they both grabbed armfuls of the moldy hay.

“Yes sir. I can write it down for you if you wish.”

Shaking his head, “No it’ll be simpler if you just come with me. It’s not like you don’t fit in the truck, and this way you can make sure you get the right stuff.”

She missed a step as she nodded at his words. Going into a town as a slave was a dangerous prospect. Laws didn’t apply to her, and if she was killed by a runaway carriage or a drunk, they would only be required to pay for or replace her. 

They dumped the hay and she went back for seconds, while Emil headed over to the truck to warm it up for the drive. Satisfied that the rabbits were settled in, she joined him in the cabin of the truck and they roared off down the road.

The gentle swaying of the truck was nice, and for the first hour or so Isla just stared out the window and tried to catch glimpses of the countryside through the whiteness of the storm. She was very glad that they had the truck and were protected from the elements as they journeyed. She couldn’t imagine doing this in a horse and buggy. 

As the time passed, Isla thought about the items she would need. Some chest wraps if they have them, some undergarments, menstrual rags, and proper shoes. She couldn’t think of much else she would need, as the ranch had a good stock of basic necessities. Obtaining those necessities was another matter. 

As a slave she couldn’t buy or sell anything without proper permission from her master, and she wasn’t sure what the rural market would be like. She knew the auction house was fairly nearby, but it looked like it mainly serviced the workfarms and brothels to the south. So they might not be used to dealing with a slave. That could be good or bad. 

Hopefully they would just treat her like a normal person, but she had talked to some girls from other areas who said slaves weren’t allowed in shops. Sometimes they could just wait outside, but they mentioned that some larger towns had posts outside certain buildings where slaves were chained up like horses to wait for their master to return. There was nothing to stop a passerby from stopping and trying to cop a feel or worse. 

As terrifying as being chained out in the cold was, it was still better than being snatched up in the street by someone. One of the male slaves had told her about a time when a man kidnapped him when he was out of sight of his master. He wasn’t sure if the man knew he was a slave or was just a rapist, but the man was a monster.

He had taken off his shirt and shown the girls the scars where the man had cut his chest and stomach as he held him down and raped him. The only thing that saved him was that his master had come looking for him and he was not far from where he had been taken. When his master found him, he had been furious, but not because he had been hurt or raped.

No, he was mad that the rapist had stolen his property without permission. Before even taking him to the healer to be looked at, his master drug him to the nearest blacksmith and had a heavy iron collar around his neck, marking him as property. The sheriff had been called and his attacker was ordered to pay twelve gold for the damage to his body, and sent on his way. The slave’s master was so disgusted with him, that he sold him the next day to the auction house.

She later found out that if the a free man or woman were raped, it was the victim’s responsibility to prove it, and the maximum penalty was ten gold. Disgusting that “theft of property” carried a heavier penalty than rape. 

Isla shuddered and thought about her friends story and resolved to stay close to her master and hope that he would protect her from that. She shot Emil a sideways glance, studying his bored expression. 

‘Well let’s look at the facts. He hasn’t slept with you, or shown interest in you. He’s even been naked in front of you and didn’t react when you were naked in front of him. Either he doesn’t care about sex or he doesn’t care about sex with you. There might be a brothel in town that where he visits some boys. Ok, assume he does that, where are you going to be? Sure as shit not hanging out in the lobby of a brothel. A town this small probably won’t have a slave pen. So that leaves me either in the room, which would just be weird, chained outside, or more likely loaned out to a friend’

As her tension ratcheted higher as more and more unlikely scenarios filled her brain ‘what if he makes me fight in the dog ring?!’ Isla’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest as they pulled into the town. Now that she was paying more attention, calling it a town was generous. It was maybe two or three dozen buildings all hodgepodged nearby. There was the main street that ran through it, but no other official roads or open spaces to see the buildings from a distance. 

It was small, it was dirty, it was poor, and it was terrifying. The truck came to a stop outside an inn with a dancing horse sign, and Emil shut off the engine.

“Ok this is the Prancing Pony. Anyone in town can give you directions here.” He then pointed to a thatched roof off to the left of the inn, “That is the Weaver’s shop, they should have everything you need. Here’s ten silver, that should be enough for the basics. Come get me when you’re done and we’ll get the rest of the supplies.”

Isla’s eyes widened as big as saucers. He was going to leave her alone, unarmed, in a strange town in the middle of nowhere, with more money than she had ever held before. That was like...how to make a victim 101.

“Master no! Please don’t make me go alone!”

Emil started, completely taken aback by her sudden vehemence.

“Whoa! What’s wrong? You ok?” 

His eyebrows climbed up into his hair, and he gripped the steering wheel tightly with the force of his adrenaline reacting to her.

“Master, you’ve never owned a slave before and no one here knows me. I couldn’t protect myself from muggers. Slaves have a certain protection from kidnapping and rape, but only if people know and I’m not branded or collared. I don’t want to get hurt.”

“Branded? Collared? People do that?”

“Yes sir! A free woman has the right to carry a weapon and defend herself. I’m a slave. Carrying a weapon is a death sentence for me. Even if I’m not armed, if I injure a free person it’s death.”

“Well I’ve been in this town for years I’ve never even heard of anything like that happening. Well, except for the Rivers daughter a long time ago, but that was never proven. Or Tanner senior, but they never caught the guy. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Emil said shrugging his shoulders. 

Isla bit her lip and looked him square in the eye. “Please master? I don’t want to be any trouble, but I really don’t want to get hurt. Wearing your collar means I’m under your protection and gives me the right to invoke your name if I need to. Please?” Her voice cracked a little bit, even though she didn’t mean to. The prospect of wandering out there alone and unprotected was truly scary.

Emil’s expression softened as met her gaze. “Ok, ok. If it will make you feel better. Where do we get a collar? I assume the slave auction sells them.”

Isla had to stop herself from collapsing in relief. She did let out a huge breath she forgot she was holding as quietly as she could and she shook her head at Emil.

“Probably, but blacksmiths usually carry some as well. If not they can usually make one pretty quick.” she told him, a trembling finger pointing to a familiar anvil sign hanging outside a forge on the other side of the street. 

“Well I guess we’re going there first then.” He said as he kicked open the drivers side door.

Isla quickly followed him, and darted around the cab of the truck to catch up to him. As they stepped onto the porch, she looked up at Emil, “Thank you master.”

Emil just nodded and cleared his throat. “Hey Perrin, you in there?!”

The steady clang of hammer on anvil stopped as they walked inside, and around a short wall that seemed to serve as a windbreak. The walked into a large room made almost entirely of stone and packed earth. In the middle was a large raised furnace, covered by a metal shroud with an opening on either side. Large bellows were built into the far side, and right next to each opening of the furnace was an anvil raised on a log. They were smaller than she expected, but being solid metal they still probably weighed one or two hundred pounds. 

On the left side of the room was the single largest man she had ever seen. He was seven feet if he was an inch. His shoulders were like mini boulders, and he handled the long hammer in his hands like it weighed as much as a fork. 

His face split into a grin seeing Emil though, and his eyes seemed kind as he shook his hand. Emil explained what he needed and the smith nodded along. Finally he produced a rounded piece of metal that was obviously an opened circle with a taper on one side and a few holes. 

Emil nodded in approval, took a piece of paper and scribbled something on it; handing it to the smith. Studying the paper, he took out a tiny chisel and began making delicate lines. Isla scooted closer to the fire and warmed her hands, mentally adding gloves to her list; as she watched the smith at work.

It didn’t take long. With Emil nodding his approval over the final piece the smith waved her over to the anvil where he stood, and slipped the ring around her neck. The smith had her bend over the anvil so that her left cheek rested on it. A bolt of fear surged through her as the smith took a very large hammer, and with two taps closed the ends of the collar, with the tapered end fitting inside the other. 

He then had her sit on the floor and pull her hair forward so that the back of the collar was exposed and resting flat on the surface of the anvil. Delicately, with long tongs, he reached into the furnace and pulled out a red hot length of metal about an inch long. 

“Don’t move girly, this will burn the skin right off of you.”

Isla stilled as much as possible and squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the smith pull the ring as far back as he could; then without warning, she felt a shift and then four quick, but very powerful, hammer blows. As soon as he finished the job Isla felt a stream of cold water cascade over the anvil, hissing as it soaked her hair and clothes. 

She felt a scraping along the collar as the smith filed down whatever ragged bits he needed too. When he was done, the pin held the two ends of the collar together and the tops of the pin had been smashed down into the ring itself forming an impenetrable weld. 

She was owned and collared. 

The reality hit her like a kick to the face. Sure she had known intellectually that she was a slave, but she had been passed from buyer to buy so many times in the last year, that it didn’t feel quite real. Now though, she could feel the weight of the collar sealed around her throat; binding her to her master.

She felt her shoulders sag as tension began to drain from them. With trembling fingers, she felt the metal encircling her neck. The smooth metal was cool and solid, with scratches on the front. It felt thicker than she remembered. As she touched it a small part of the back of her brain envisioned her stroking a shield. 

This was her protection against the outside world. From now on, no matter what happened she was the property of Emil Jackson and under his protection. He was the barrier to her being resold, attacked, or manhandled. She studied him out of the corner of her eye. Tall, well built beneath his baggy coats, and so far hadn’t made a single move on her. 

‘I will never let myself go through that hell again. I will be perfect, he will never want to get rid of me. In a couple months, he’ll wonder how he ever lived his life without me.’

With this collar, she was safe.

Chapter 17

Emil shook Perrin’s hand. “Thanks for the collar, its good work. Like always.”

“Of course! Anything for you. Now we’re agreed? Four mutton chops?”

A hearty chuckle bubbled from Emil’s chest. “Yes, yes. My finest cuts next time I’m in town. I promise.”

“Excellent” Perrin grinned. “It’s been far too long since I had some quality meat. I think I’m beginning to forget the taste.”

“You should stop by the ranch when the storm passes. I’ve had a decent tupping this year and I could sell you a couple. Get you all stocked up for winter.”

Perrin rubbed his wolf tattoo on his forearm absently. “You have a point there young Jackson. Perhaps the wife will let me. I’ll have to ask when the weather starts to clear. Faile gets cranky when its cold and she’s liable to bite my head off right now,” he said with a hearty laugh.

A final handshake and he gathered Isla, who was rubbing her collar with a pensive face, and left the blacksmiths. He was going to let her loose on the Weaver’s alone, but her strange panic attack earlier caused him to rethink his strategy. Instead they walked over together, and began combing through the store. 

Isla spoke in hushed tones with a young Weaver lass, who nodded in understanding brought several items to the counter and laid them out. Emil tried not to look at them since they were her under….things. Damnit he peeked! Well, it was just some long strips of cloth and some smaller padded ones. He had no idea what they were for, and quite frankly was way too embarrassed to ask. 

He spoke to Weaver senior and spoke about various fabrics and their prices by yardage. Emil ended up adding ten yards of a light linen fabric and twenty yards of a thick wool most likely made from his own flock. Perhaps this he would intern Isla at the Weavers and teach her how to spin wool. Then he could cut Kim the wool merchant out of the negotiations entirely. The squat little man was trying to rip him off he was sure of it. 

Their items cost a lot more than Emil was hoping at a whopping eighty silver. He figured it was worth it though, because if Isla was any good she could just make clothes instead of having to come back. Just to be safe though, he did buy her two good thick pairs of pants. 

Next they stopped by Tack’s, and purchased some thick padded boots that should last a while. Fortunately Tack had a pair of boots premade that fit Isla perfectly, with just enough room for socks. A gold was a lot of money for a pair of boots, but Emil never skimped on footwear. Everything was built from there, and if your feet were bad, so were you. 

Finally the general store for some more of that ancient insulation, another half barrel of fuel for the truck and they were done for the day. It was just getting late afternoon, and if they left now they should be able to make it back to the ranch around sunset. Emil was very pleased with their progress. 

They tromped over to the truck outside the pony, to load their purchases, but Emil stopped short, pulling Isla to a stop with him a few paces from the vehicle. There was a skinny man in a ragged military coat waiting for them and leaning on the truck. He watched them and waved friendly. 

“Didn’t mean to startle you friend. I wanted to speak to you, but didn’t want to interrupt your shopping. I’m looking for work and I hear you’re looking for a hand on your ranch. “ The man said with a smile. He had a relaxed demeanor, and held himself with a confidence. Judging by the ragged coat Emil gathered he was a soldier, who had fallen on hard times. 

Beware the man who is too clean, and beware the salesman who smiles too much were two of his father's favorite sayings; but his mother had often said Opportunity knocks once, be sure to listen. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to hear this guy out. 

He turned to Isla, “Please load everything into the truck and secure it. I’ll be inside the inn,” he said handing her his few items. Turning back to the gentleman, he gestured to the inn where they could talk.

They sat at the fire pit and ordered a couple of drinks. Emil got his usual hot toddy, and the gentleman got a large beer. He was surprised when the man offered to pay for both drinks, and his opinion of him went up a few points.

Once their drinks had been delivered, they both took a sip with a sigh of appreciation and shook hands for official introduction. 

“Name’s Markem, Mr. Jackson. I’m from way south. I was a military man, but my lord was overrun in a spat with another lord. It happens all the time and normally the armies are merged into the victors, but my Aldridge was a good man. Concerned about uprisings the new lord had the competing armies disbanded and spread rumors about immorality and lack of discipline.”

Emil waited patiently as Markem sipped his beer, licking his lips before continuing. “This wasn’t a problem for the lowest soldiers, or the ranking generals of course. Privates can be supervised, and Generals are above reproach; but I was just a lieutenant, a mid level man. No, I can’t be trusted to supervise their armies; I could corrupt them. Bullshit. I have superiors too ya know.”

Markem’s knuckles whitened in an unnecessary grip on his mug, as he tossed back the last of the beer; dragging his already stained coat sleeve across his short beard. Emil still waited. Always let the person selling do the talking, and never get excited. His parents advice was coming in very handy today. 

“So I was a soldier, without an army. I tried to find work, but no one would take me in; so I started north. Turns out you nothern lot are pretty self sufficient, and have no need of lords and ladies. I kinda like that. Be my own man for a change. The rub of it is, I’m a man who’s good at running, lifting, and fighting; with nowhere to go, nothing to lift, and no one to fight. I asked around and a couple people told me you were looking for a ranch hand. I’ve never sheared sheep, but it can’t be that hard. I’d like to come work for you for the winter. If I work out well, then maybe next year we can talk about me staying on long term.”

Emil took a sip of his own drink. Hot toddies were pretty strong alcohol wise and he didn’t want to get too inebriated during negotiations. He studied the man carefully. Besides his overly thin coat and ragged appearance, he had the physique of a man who had taken care of his body. He may not be as large as Perrin, but he certainly wouldn’t pass out during chores.

It might be nice to have someone else deal with those twice blighted goats. 

“Saying perhaps you did come work up at the ranch, I’m not a lord and I don’t have a treasury. What were you expecting as way of compensation,” Emil asked.

“My previous command provided room and board, as well as two gold a month. A wealthy rancher like yourself could probably meet that with ease.”

Emil laughed, throwing his head back and making a scene. His shoulders shook with mirth, and he wiped a pretend tear from his eye.

“Sorry buddy, that’s not how things work out here. Maybe wherever you’re from people kept piles of gold and jewels lying around in vaults waiting to be spent. Out here all my money is tied up in my flock. We don’t have riches in the cold white north, we have assets.”

Taking another long sip of his beverage, he nodded sympathetically to Markem. “If you’re looking for hard currency, best look back in the south. Up here we’re more concerned with survival; and a steady supply of meals goes a long way. Sorry friend, I don’t think I can help you.”

Just last week Emil would have jumped all over Markem’s offer. That was before Isla though. She was already helping out tremendously. In the last week he’d had time to read a bit of his favorite book, taken three baths, and had both bedrooms cleaned from top to bottom. Sure she needed to practice cooking, but she was a quick study and a proactive worker. 

Emil stood and dropped a couple copper for the waitress, and turned to go when Markem reached out and grabbed his sleeve. 

“Ok, ok. You northerners all all about negotiating right? Well, let’s negotiate. You’re right it’s not the south, and even if I was paid at my old wages there’s not much up here to spend it on. I’ll be honest, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in the north so how about this. I’ll work for you for the winter, you provide room and board. At the end of the winter, after...harvest or whatever you call it, you pay for my passage back to Shreveport and ten gold.”

Emil smiled inwardly, but kept it from his face. Instead he crossed his arms across his chest and frowned.

“I told you, all my coin is wrapped up in my herd. Coin sitting around in a chest doesn’t help run a ranch. Every last copper is invested back into keeping things fixed, buying feed, and medicine. I simply don’t have that amount of coin. Besides, you said yourself you have no idea how to tend flock. I’ll give you a room, three meals, two gold at the end of the season, and drop you off back in town. You can make your own way from there.”

Markem shook his head emphatically. “Two gold will barely get me to Dallas. I may not know anything about ranching, but I can learn fast and work from sunup to sundown. I saw your little slave girl. I doubt she’s good for much outside the bedroom. Eight gold at the end of season, or five gold and you buy me passage to Shreveport.”

Emil’s eyes narrowed. Isla wasn’t as hardy as him sure, but she’d already made strides to prove her worth. He wasn’t sure why, but he really didn’t like Markem’s insinuations that he bought her just to service him. 

Emil sighed and stroked his beard thoughtfully, considering his options. “I’ll give you room and board, passage to Shreveport, and four gold after the season. On top of that, I’ll outfit you with some decent clothes. Its my final offer and its more than fair.”

Markem looked at his empty beer mug in deep thought. He sighed, stood and reached out to shake Emil’s hand. “You drive a hard bargain Mr Jackson. It’s a deal.”

Emil shook the proffered hand with a smile. “Welcome to the ranch Markem. Gather your belongings, and meet me outside at my truck. We have a long drive back.”


End file.
